The Guilt of Forever
by LaurieH
Summary: What really happened to cause Wirenth and Prideth to go between forever? I have attempted to fill in the blanks for a portion of Dragonquest. And in the process, have made Brekke a more sympathetic character.


The cloaked shape slipped into the remote room in Fort Hold. The room's occupant had ceased being guarded Turns ago, when it was decided that she was no longer a threat – either to herself or to others. This had made it easy for the individual to visit, no matter how rarely she could make an appearance.

Shaking off the cloak, brown curls peppered with gray framed a healthy, tanned face. Though filled out over the turns, it was surprisingly free of lines and wrinkles. Green eyes glinted brightly as the woman hung her cloak by the door then turned to study the permanent occupant of the room.

Even after all these turns, she was still beautiful. Her hair was still golden, with no gray streaks even though she was the intruder's senior by at least 10 turns. Her face showed no signs of aging – possibly from being sequestered away from Pern's sun. The only sign of time passing was a body grown fuller from maturity. She was seated upon the ground, a piece of paper in front of her. Her face was a study in concentration as she tried to color a shape that had been drawn on the paper just for that purpose. Finally, she looked up and saw the visitor.

"Hello," the high, childish voice did not match the body it was attached to

"Hello, Kylara," Brekke answered, kneeling across from the woman-child. "How are you today?"

"Fine. I'm coloring. See?" Kylara proudly held up the paper she had been working so hard on. Shades of yellow and gold colored the paper, though the shape was barely an oval.

"It's very pretty. What is it?" Brekke felt compelled to ask, even though she already knew the answer.

"Is a dragon." Putting the paper back down again, Kylara cocked her head to the side. Her blue eyes were starting to show some signs of another intelligence, but the words were still child-speak. "Is my dragon." She spoke very possessively, as if she actually did have a dragon. Then tears came to her eyes. "Is gone. My dragon – gone." She bowed her head as if to cry, and then brought it back up. Her blue eyes looked at Brekke, but instead of sadness, they reflected anger. The intelligence that had seemed to lurk under the surface had finally come to the fore, looking at Brekke with undisguised accusation.

"Why? Why did you do it?" The Kylara of thirty-five Turns ago, before that fateful day, was back.

And for the first time in thirty-five Turns, Turns in which Brekke had come to visit Kylara on the anniversary of Prideth's and Wirenth's deaths, she answered Kylara's question. "Because I was scared."

**************************

_Brekke? We've got a Wing Second who was injured in a knife fight. Can you take him?_ N'ton's Lioth was hailing the young goldrider, as she went upon her duties at Southern Weyr. She stopped and considered.

_How soon?_

_A couple hours yet. Master Oldive is still treating his wound, and we have to fly him straight. His injuries are too bad – he can't go _between_._ Lioth was painstakingly repeating N'ton's words.

Brekke sucked in her breath. It must be bad then, if Master Oldive was dressing it. She wondered who it was, then discarded that thought from her mind. First she needed to ready a weyr. _Just let me know when you're almost here. I have a room that can be made up._

Silent assent reached her mind as she whirled and went to find one of the recently vacated weyrs. Luckily – or not, depending on how one thought of it, several of the more severely injured riders who had been recuperating at Southern had just been cleared for duty once again. The rooms hadn't yet been cleaned, but she could grab a couple of drudges to do the work. It did strike her as being a little presumptuous on their part, though. She could tell, just by Lioth's mind-voice, thus by association N'ton's, that they were expecting her to take this injured man. Southern always took the heaviest injuries in, though they didn't retain injuries themselves. Sometimes Brekke resented the fact that she was so heavily relied upon, but then she would remember that glorious day, almost three Turns ago, when Wirenth chose her amongst the rest of the gold Candidates upon the Sands. A small price to pay, she would think, being a regular Nurse Nerilka, to become the weyrmate of the glorious Wirenth.

Instead of calling up any drudges, Brekke decided to ready the weyr herself. She was in a contemplative mood, and doing a domestic chore left her plenty of time to think. How quickly the Turns had passed, she thought, touching upon the mind of her sleeping queen. It seemed like only yesterday that Wirenth had broken out of her shell, making her ungainly way to Brekke. The Craft-bred girl could hardly believe that this beautiful little creature wanted _her._ Now she was almost ready for her first flight, and suddenly Brekke realized why she was so contemplative. She was scared.

At Brekke's touch of fear, Wirenth awoke. _What is there to be scared of?_ the young queen asked. _I fly, someone catches me, and you and his rider bring us back. We've seen enough green flights to know what to do._

"That's the problem, dear. I _don't_ know what to do. I've never done that before."

_Then go do it before I rise._ The voice was matter-of –fact. To Wirenth, it was just a fact of life. And though the young dragon knew her rider was afraid, she had the utmost confidence that when the time came, Brekke would do what was right. As if the matter was settled, she went back to snoozing.

"If only it were that easy," Brekke whispered, while changing the bed linens. She wasn't like the Weyrwoman. Kylara could just look at a man and happily bed him. Though Brekke had reason to know that just because Kylara seemed happy bedding men, it was all a facade. There were things that she and only she knew about the Weyrwoman. Things that still gave Brekke nightmares. But she had promised Kylara, promised her that she would never speak of the things Kylara had screamed out in the midst of fire-head delirium.

As she put the finishing touches to the weyr, sweeping up the debris and putting fresh flowers on the chest, Brekke snorted. You'd think that Kylara would admit to being friends after that. But just as it was the Weyrwoman's nature to be wanton, it was also in her nature to not trust anyone. Brekke was the closest thing Kylara had to a friend, yet she snubbed any overtures the younger woman made. Yet Brekke knew that eventually she would wear the older woman down. It would only take time.

Dusting her hands together, she looked at the weyr and nodded. It was ready for its next occupant. Gauze, numbweed, fellis and redwort were in one of the drawers of the chest, along with some scissors and a small knife. Some of the other small things that would be useful for treating wounds were powdered willow bark - in case the pain didn't need fellis - comfrey, chamomile and mint. Sometimes the fellis caused stomach upset, which the chamomile and mint helped. She turned to go.

_We're almost there,_ Lioth's voice sounded very close. Brekke looked up and saw spots in the sky that began to grow larger. The dragons had arrived.

_Wirenth, please tell Prideth to tell Kylara that I'll be busy for a while_, Brekke said, nudging her dragon awake. She could tell Prideth herself, but she considered that rude. Besides, no one except for the dragons knew she could hear them, and she meant to keep it that way.

By the time she reached the clearing where the dragons landed, two men were carrying a stretcher with the injured man upon it. Brekke hailed them, and N'ton hailed her back.

"Ho, Goldrider Brekke," N'ton said, not letting go of the stretcher. "Where would you like Jonan and me to take him?" He needlessly indicated the figure lying upon the fabric of the carrying device.

"You can follow me, I've set up a weyr for him," Brekke said, all business at the moment. She had originally thought that two riders were bringing in the third, but realized that the one man wore Journeyman Healer knots. She looked over to the dragons and noted that the brown one was looking a distinctively sickly gray hue. "Is that Canth?" she asked as her heart gave a quick jolt.

N'ton nodded in surprise. "You know Canth and F'nor? Well, of course you would," he said, answering his own question. "They Searched you for Wirenth, didn't they? Yes, F'nor was unfortunately involved in a slight tussle over a decorative knife at the Smithcraft hall." He shook his head, sighing. "Those Fort riders seem to think they have a right to whatever they want."

Leading the way to the Recovery weyrs, Brekke pursed her lips. "They may feel it is their right, for coming forward in time to save us," she said thoughtfully, "but after seven Turns, you'd think they would have figured out the way of things." Though she might have been kindlier disposed towards them at one time, she was no longer. One of them had dared to hurt her brownrider! Though why she should persist on thinking of him, as belonging to her was ludicrous. After all, he barely knew she was alive!

"Here, you can settle him here," the young goldrider said as they arrived at the room which she had assigned to him. She watched as N'ton and Jonan carefully transferred an unconscious F'nor from the stretcher to the bed, and then went to look at the wound. She turned to the Journeyman. "Jonan, what was done for the brownrider before you brought him here?" she asked while examining the bandage.

The Journeyman Healer cleared his throat, and then began to give Brekke the specifics on what had been used to pack the wound, and to keep F'nor from waking. From all that had been done for the man, he shouldn't be awakening until mid-morning the next day. She made one more check on his comfort, and then gestured for N'ton and Jonan to leave the room with her.

"Canth can stay outside here. The Weyrlings will make sure he eats regularly, until F'nor can take him to hunt himself. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Not really, ma'am. Jonan and I will go pay our respects to T'bor, then be on our way. F'lar needs us back at Benden as quickly as possible." With that, N'ton gave Brekke a cursory bow, and headed towards T'bor's quarters, Jonan in tow. Brekke watched them leave, then let herself quietly back into F'nor's weyr.

**************

Brekke was changing the dressing on F'nor's arm when she heard T'bor calling her. By the aggravated tone of his voice, she surmised he must have been to Kylara first. She tensed, knowing how crudely the Weyrwoman treated him. Her fingers fumbled for a moment from nervousness, then relaxed, finishing the job she had started. She worried for them both – T'bor because of how roughly Kylara handled him, and Kylara, for not allowing herself to be loved.

"I'm in F'nor's weyr," she called out to him, turning so her voice would carry out through the open door.

"Don't know why we insist on calling a hold made of wood a weyr," F'nor joked to her.

Brekke looked at him, dutifully smiling at his joke. Why did her heart have to begin pounding so much when she was around him? She was surprised that her hands were as skillful and gentle as ever when she was tending the brownrider, instead of making his wound even worse! Of course, it had been easier when he was in a delirium and feverish. She could even tell him how she felt about him then, for he would never remember when he was well. But now, now her hands trembled, ever so slightly.

"A weyr is where a dragon is, no matter how it's constructed," she said archly, then turned away to hide her embarrassment. To Brekke's relief, T'bor chose that moment to enter. How she had the temerity to say something like that was beyond her. She started to busy herself with putting away her healing implements, barely listening to the conversation behind her.

"How's the arm, F'nor?"

"Improving under Brekke's expert care. There's a rumor that men sent to Southern heal quicker." Brekke turned at the the comment, then blushed at the look F'nor gave her. Steadying her trembling hands, she focused her attention back to her busy work.

"If that's why there are always so many coming back, I'll give her other duties," T'bor said bitterly. "Brekke, how many more wounded can we accommodate?"

Tallying up the comings and goings quickly in her head, Brekke considered. "Only four, but Varena at West can handle at least twenty." _Faranth, don't let there be that many_.

"R'mart asks to send ten, only one badly injured," the Weyrleader said, still resentful.

"He'd best stay here then," Brekke answered thoughtfully. She'd take care of him; Varena would be able to handle the rest.

T'bor looked at her gratefully. "I appreciate your help, Brekke. I really do."

Before she had a chance to say anything, F'nor interrupted. "I wonder if other arrangements ought to be made," he said, surprisingly tentative.

"What do you mean?" T'bor asked sharply.

"For hundreds of Turns, dragonriders managed to get well in their own Weyrs. Why should the Southern ones be burdened with the wounded, useless men, constantly dumped on them to recuperate."

"Benden sends very few," Brekke said quickly, then wanted to kick herself. Why was she even in this conversation?

"I don't mean just Benden," F'nor amended. "Half the men here right now are from Fort Weyr. They could as well bask on the beaches of Southern Boll…"

"T'ron's no leader," T'bor said disparagingly.

"So Mardra would like us to believe," Brekke broke in vehemently. She took an inadvertent step back when T'bor gave her a surprised look. Why, oh why couldn't she keep her mouth shut?

"You don't miss much, do you, little lady?" F'nor laughed. "That's what Lessa said, and I agree."

Now he was making fun of her. Little lady, indeed. Brekke flushed and would have left then and there but for T'bor.

"What do you mean, Brekke?" No matter how introverted Brekke was, T'bor knew her better than anyone outside Southern Weyr. His tone told Brekke that he knew she meant more than just an acerbic comment.

"It's just that, well, five of the men most seriously wounded were flying in Mardra's wing!"

"Her wing?" F'nor's tone was sharp.

"Haven't you heard? Ever since D'nek was Threaded, she's been flying…"

F'nor cut her off. "A queen eating firestone? Is that why Loranth hasn't risen to mate?"

If he would have let her finish, he wouldn't have needed to ask the question. Brekke was beginning to wonder if she was finally beginning to see the brownrider clearly. "I didn't say Loranth ate firestone," Brekke said, almost snapping at him. "Mardra's got some sense left. A sterile queen's no better than a green. And Mardra'd not be senior or Weyrwoman. No, she uses a flamethrower."

"On an upper level?"

"That's why so many men are injured in her wing; the dragons fly close to protect their queen. A flame thrower throws 'down' but not out, or wide enough to catch airborne Thread at the speed dragons fly."

"That is without a doubt…Ouch!" Before Brekke could warn him, F'nor had moved his arm and upset the bandage. His wound began bleeding again. She sighed, pushing him back onto the stool to reset the bandage. Men! Lost in her thoughts, she missed part of the conversation.

"…she's full blood sister to Larad of Telgar Hold. Besides, Larad can manage her. And Lessa and F'lar will be there. Kylara's not likely to tangle with Lessa. So what can she do? Change the pattern of Thread?"

Brekke inhaled sharply at what F'nor had said, almost pulling the bandage too tight. She went back to her ministrations, avoiding eye contact with F'nor.

"She didn't change Thread patterns. No one knows why that happened," T'bor was saying.

"How what happened?" F'nor's tone was perplexed, with a hint of suspicion that someone had been keeping important news from him.

"You heard that Thread is dropping out of pattern?" Not realizing that F'nor hadn't been informed, T'bor was equally baffled at the Wingleader's tone.

"No, I didn't hear."

At the accusing glance he gave her, Brekke gave up trying to ignore him. "There wasn't anything you could do about it, F'nor. You were still feverish when the news came…" I didn't want you to worry, she left unsaid.

"Not that F'lar's precious Thread patterns ever included us here in the Southern Continent," T'bor said bitterly. "Who cares what happens in this part of the world." With that, he strode out of the weyr.

Brekke grabbed F'nor's arm to keep him from following. "No, F'nor. Don't press him. Please?" She sent him a pleading look.

"Fine. Now, be kind enough to give me the news about that change in Thread pattern. My arm was wounded, not my head."

She still felt that it had been for the better that she had not said anything earlier. All he would have done was worry. But now, well, he was fine now. She began by telling him about how R'mart had been so badly wounded, and his Weyrwoman hadn't thought to tell anyone. She told him how T'kul just didn't bother telling anyone – even his contemporaries. Just like the man. And she got him to admit that all he would have done was worry.

"I still don't understand T'bor's remark about our not caring what happens in this part of the world…" F'nor stated in a puzzled tone.

"It's not easy to live with Kylara," Brekke said, hoping he would understand what she was trying to say. "Particularly when it amounts to exile." Maybe if they were still up North, among the rest of the world, it wouldn't be so hard for them. But this seclusion wasn't easy for Kylara to take, and she refused to make it easy for anyone else down here – especially the man whose bronze continuously caught her queen.

"Don't I just know it," F'nor exclaimed.

"You can see how much T'bor has made out of Southern Weyr in the Turns he's been Weyrleader here." She practically begged him to understand, that Southern was T'bor's just as Benden was F'lar's. Brekke was gratified when F'nor nodded.

"Did he ever complete the exploration of the southern continent?" he asked.

"I don't think so. The deserts to the west are terrible. One or two riders got curious but the winds turned them back. And, eastward, there's just ocean. It probably extends right around to the desert. This is the bottom of the earth, you know." Her voice didn't show it, but she was a little crestfallen that all he seemed to care about was the exploration. Granted, there wasn't the Threadfall in Southern that there was up North, but it seemed that all they wanted from T'bor was either a nursery for hurt riders, or maps. T'bor was right – they didn't care about what was happening down here. She turned to go, then notice F'nor flexing his bandaged arm. Shard it! Those Northerners DID need nursemaids!

"Now you listen to me, Wing-second F'nor of Benden," Brekke said sharply. The fool wanted to go explore himself. "You're in no condition to go charging back to duty or to go exploring. You haven't the stamina of a fledgling and you certainly can't go between. Intense cold is the worst thing for a half-healed wound. Why do you think you were flown here straight?" She'd have Canth ground him if she had to!

"Why Brekke, I didn't know you cared," F'nor drawled, causing her to drop her guard as she looked at him. His reaction was enough to spur her on to action before he could interpret her look, and she pushed him towards the door.

"Get out. Take your poor lonely dragon and lie on the beach in the sun. Rest. Can't you hear Canth calling you?" Immediately she was sorry she said anything.

"Brekke? Can you hear other dragons?" F'nor asked.

"Yes." Before he could say anything else, she ran out of the weyr. Once she was a safe distance away, she leaned against a tree. Just being around that man did things to her – things she didn't like to think about. After all, she wasn't like that! She was raised to save herself until she got married. But – Weyrfolk didn't marry, did they? Their dragons were too important. She knew that Wirenth was the most important figure in her life. Shards, Wirenth was her life. So what was she going to do when her queen rose? Brekke leaned against the tree and wept.

***************

"We can afford to send some of these redfruit up North. I know that Manora has been wanting to bake some pies with them, and if we don't send them they'll spoil," Brekke was saying to the Southern Headwoman when Canth's call came through.

_Brekke! Come quick! Here!_ A picture of beach filled her head. _Fire lizards are Hatching, they can be Impressed!_

"Fire lizards?" Brekke said out loud. Her foster daughter, Mirrim, looked up in shock.

"What?"

"Canth says that fire lizards are Hatching at a beach F'nor was resting on," Brekke said absently as she made sure Wirenth was alerting other riders. She was also gathering up bowls of food, handing some to Mirrim, who bemusedly took them, following Brekke close upon her heels as she ran towards the young queen. As an afterthought, Brekke had also gathered up a full haunch of buck, not minding that she was more dragging than carrying it.

_Did you get many?  
_

Wirenth snorted._ Most didn't believe me. I gave the ones that did Canth's location._ She extended her foreleg as Brekke and Mirrim both scrambled on, launching herself into the air almost before the women were ready. After a brief bout of cold between, they were at the beach, where Wirenth unceremoniously dumped them as close as she could. _I go to fight wherries,_ she called as the two women ran towards the fire lizard fracas.

_I can't believe this, I can't believe this_, Brekke thought as she ran down the dune.

As if echoing her thoughts, Mirrim was actually saying "I can't believe we're doing this. Fire lizards, I can't believe it." A green lizard, somewhat apart from the others, smelled the food that Mirrim was carrying. Grabbing her by the body, Mirrim stuffed the meat down the miniature dragon's throat, and went on, trying to feed more. One of the other riders Brekke had called came by, and Mirrim wordlessly handed him a bowl of food, not paying attention to what he was doing. She continued to try and feed the fire lizards.

Brekke finally stopped watching her foster daughter, then became entranced with a little bronze that had flown up to her. He landed on her bowl and chirped, so she began to feed him. It was like, yet unlike Impressing Wirenth. The feelings were familiar yet not as strong.

_Of course they're familiar,_ Wirenth laughed, breaking Brekke out of her self-imposed trance. By now the rest of the fire lizards had either been Impressed, gone between, or been eaten. She spotted F'nor up on his small rise and waved, then told Canth that they'd be there in a few minutes.

"If we spray these bodies with agenothree, then other fire lizards may not know that these died here," Brekke said to the three other riders who had heeded Wirenth's call. Mutely they nodded, and began spraying the site with the caustic acid.

After the bodies had been sprayed and buried, Brekke made her way up to where F'nor was sitting. "Seven out of over fifty," she said sadly. "I wonder how many would have survived if you hadn't called us."

"She was already far from the others when she discovered us," F'nor said, drawing Brekke's eyes to his little gold. "Probably the first to hatch, or on top of the others." Not an answer, but at least the gold had enabled some of the Weyrfolk to learn of the existence of a legend.

Brekke was proud to learn that Mirrim had saved three of the little things – another green along with the first, and a brown that she said had been on the ground. He was injured, but would survive. One of the men had Impressed a bronze; the other two each had a blue. They all sat in companionable silence for a while, feeding their new pets of the haunch that Brekke had brought along. Then the young weyrwoman stood up, sighing. "They're asleep now, and won't be waking for a long time. We need to get back to the Weyr. You're to fly home straight," she gave F'nor a stern look, one that a woman was likely to give a rebellious weyrling.

"Yes, ma'am," F'nor replied, with mock humility. Brekke gave him another 'look', and he smiled.

She wanted to melt under that smile, but just shook her head. "Straight," she admonished as she took her sleeping bronze over to Wirenth. Ah well, even if he didn't want to obey her, Canth would. Brekke mounted her queen, and then reached down for Mirrim's three. This wasn't easy – transporting four fire lizards back to the Weyr.

_So, what do you think?_

_They're cute_, Wirenth replied matter-of-factly. _Do they have any uses?_

_I don't know. But I intend to find out._ Conversation died during the trip _between_, and then they were back at the Weyr.

Once back on the ground, it seemed that every Weyr denizen who hadn't been around before suddenly appeared out of the brush. Smiling at everyone, Brekke grabbed Mirrim's hand and dragged her towards the Infirmary so she could bandage the little brown. Even though she usually felt like she had no authority, people fell away from her as she made her way through the small crowd. Granted, questions were being thrown at her left and right.

"Yes, they are fire lizards. Yes, they can be Impressed. No, you can't catch an adult – at least, we didn't see any adults there. They like to lay their eggs in the warm sand of the beach." Suddenly, no one was around, and Brekke had to laugh. Once the people knew they could be found along the shore, the Weyr emptied out once again. She wondered how many more would be Impressed within the sevenday. This was a great find – if fire lizards could be given to Holders…

"Brekke? Are we going to bandage him?" Mirrim held her little brown up to her foster mother, concern in her dark eyes. Immediately Brekke felt bad for thinking of Holders when her own fosterling needed her!

"Here, hold him down, yes, that's good. I know, little one, this hurts. It's not going to hurt much longer." She spread some numbweed on the cuts, then anesthetized and bandaged them. "Here you go, dear. Good as new." She handed the little brown back to Mirrim. Brekke noted with some amusement that the two greens were perched on her shoulder, holding on for dear life.

Mirrim took the brown and sat in a nearby chair, holding him as if he would break. As soon as she sat, the rider who had the blue lizard with the broken wing came up to her, asking if she could fix him up. Brekke looked up in surprise. Everyone who had come to the beach with her had followed her into the Infirmary! Slowly she smiled. How sweet!

"Of course I'll fix your little blue up," Brekke told the rider kindly. "Just put him down there." Now, what to do for a splint? She busied herself with fixing up this fire lizard when she heard F'nor's voice.

"You don't suppose he's jealous, do you?" he was saying as he came into the Infirmary. Brekke looked at him, confused, until she realized he was talking about Canth, and his little gold pet. If she hadn't been so busy, she would have looked like a fool, not understanding him. Then again, she wasn't the one who had come into the Infirmary in the middle of a conversation. Thinking that put her in a better humor, and she almost laughed.

"Wirenth was interested, too, until the lizards fell asleep," Brekke finally answered, a twinkle in her green eyes as she looked up at him briefly. "And you know how touchy Wirenth is right now. Mercy, F'nor, what is there for a dragon to be jealous of? These are toys, dolls as far as the big ones are concerned. At best, children to be protected and taught like any fosterling." She followed his gaze as he glanced over at Mirrim.

"Mirrim is very young for this," he said, shaking his head.

"On the contrary, she's as old as most weyrlings at their first Impression. And she's more mature in some ways than half a dozen grown women I know with several babes of their own!" Come to think of it, she was old enough to have babes of her own! The thought made her cringe.

"Oh-ho. The female of the species in staunch defense…"

She was not in the mood for this, now. "It's no teasing matter, F'nor," Brekke said sharply. "Mirrim will do very well. She takes every responsibility to heart."

"I still say she's young…"

"Is age a prerequisite for a loving heart? Does maturity always bring compassion? Why are some weyrbred boys left standing on the sand and others, never thought to have a chance, walk off with the bronzes? Mirrim Impressed three, and the rest of us, though we tried, with the creatures dying at our feet, only managed to attach one."

"And why am I never told what occurs in my own Weyr?" Kylara demanded in a loud voice. She stood on the threshold of the Infirmary, her face suffused with an angry flush, her eyes bright and hard.

Brekke stiffened. "As soon as I finished this splinting, I was coming to tell you," she said with a calm that she did not feel. Kylara was hurt – and hurt badly. Despite all that Brekke had done to bring them closer together, this one little thing had undone it all, and with a vengeance. Brekke had just become another betrayer, to be lumped in with the rest. No more would Kylara trust what the younger queenrider had to say. The unshed tears in Kylara's eyes gave testimony to that.

Unconsciously Brekke moved back as Kylara advanced upon her, giving the illusion that the Weyrwoman was going to attack her. Actually, this was Brekke's way of telling Kylara that she had done wrong, but of course it was misunderstood. She felt F'nor step around her to intercept Kylara, and winced. Why did he have to be here?

"Events moved rather fast, Kylara," F'nor was saying in a pleasant tone. "We were fortunate to save as many of the lizards as we did. Too bad you didn't hear Canth broadcast the news. You might have Impressed one yourself."

Kylara halted, the full skirts of her robe swirling around her feet. Brekke saw her give F'nor a hurt look, as if she knew that Canth hadn't told Prideth. Then she moved over to Mirrim, staring in bemusement at the three lizards the girl had in her possession. Mirrim looked at Brekke, silently asking for help but Brekke just gave the slightest shake of her head. The two healthy greens still hissed at Kylara, who stepped back, still unsure of what to do. That's when G'sel's bronze lizard bugled, drawing the blonde's attention to him.

"I'll have the bronze! Of course. The bronze'll do just fine," she exclaimed finally, eyes glittering. Whether from avarice or the remainder of tears Brekke didn't know. But she did know that Kylara was asking for trouble when she tried to take G'sel's fire lizard from him.

"A bronze dragon on my shoulder will be most effective, I think," Kylara was saying, reaching for the tiny bronze.

Very subtlety, G'sel tried to draw the fire-lizard away from Kylara's grasping hands, Brekke noted. His temperament was ingrained to defer to the queen rider, yet he was doing what he could to keep her from getting hurt. He held up a warning hand, even as the little bronze started to hiss.

"I said they were Impressed, Kylara," F'nor said in a hard tone. "Touch him at your own risk."

"Impressed, you say?" said Kylara disbelievingly. "Why, they're nothing but fire-lizards." The younger queen rider noted the amazement in the older rider's voice, but doubted anyone else would. Brekke resolved to mend the rift between the two as soon as possible. She came out of her impromptu reverie at Kylara's raised voice.

"You? Impressed a queen?" Now Kylara's avarice and jealousy were apparent to the whole room. Brekke sighed. That look of utter greed would do nothing to redeem her to others. But really, who could blame her? F'nor's tiny queen was charm incarnate.

"She went between when she was frightened," F'nor was saying in a hard, clipped tone to the Weyrwoman. "She communicated that fright, plus curiosity, and she evidently received our reassurances. At least she came back. Canth said she'd just hatched. I fed her and she's still with me. We managed to save only these seven because they got Impressed. The others turned cannibal. Now, how long these will be dependent on us for food and companionship is pure conjecture. But the dragons admit a blood relationship and they have ways of knowing beyond ours." The brownrider's tone was rising at the end. Brekke could see how irritated he was at her Weyrwoman.

"Just how did you Impress them?" Kylara demanded, her intentions transparent. It was obvious that as soon as she left, she'd be out combing the beaches for fire-lizard clutches. "No one's ever caught one before."

Suddenly, F'nor seemed agreeable to the Weyrwoman again. "You Impress them by being there when they hatch, same as with dragons. After that, I assume the ones which survive stay wild. As to why no one ever caught any before, that's simple; the fire lizards hear them coming and disappear between."

"Well, I want it clearly understood that this is a working Weyr. We've no time for pets who serve no purpose. I'll deal severely with anyone shirking their duties or..." she left the rest unsaid. And, bruised ego or no, Brekke knew that the Weyrwoman had made her stand. Anyone disregarding her orders would suffer.

"No shirking or tramping the beaches until you've had a chance to get one first, eh, Kylara?" F'nor said in a mocking tone.

"I've better things to do!" Turning on her heel, she swept out of the room.

Still mocking, F'nor wasn't done. "Maybe we ought to warn the lizards."

"There's no protection against someone like Kylara," Brekke said, finally free to hand the bandaged blue back to his owner. Kylara already knew how to get what she wanted, no matter what it took. "One learns to live with her." And to accept her faults.

"How can you say that, Brekke, when she's so mean and nasty to you?" Mirrim cried, but Brekke quelled her with a glance. The child didn't know.

"Make no judgments where you have no compassion," Brekke replied. These little creatures were already starting trouble that she didn't need. Maybe Kylara was right. Exasperated, she said, "I, too, will not tolerate any shirking of duties to care for these pretties. I don't know why we saved them!"

"Make no judgments where you have no compassion," F'nor shot back at her. She thought he was teasing, but it stung, having her words mocked by him.

"They needed us," Mirrim said boldly, and Brekke looked at her, surprised. Mirrim'd never spoken up like this before. Brekke wondered if this were just a passing thing, or if she would begin to speak up more often. Finally, she decided it was passing, for Mirrim suddenly became absorbed in tending her brown.

"Yes, they did," F'nor was saying, and the sting that Brekke had felt before faded into warmth at the way he was agreeing with her young charge. "And true weyrmen one and all, we responded to the cry for succor."

Maybe now it was time to bring up something that had been working in the back of her mind. "Mirrim Impressed three, and she's no weyrman," said Brekke dryly. "And...if they are Impressionable by non-riders, they might well be worth every effort to save." The possibilities...

"How's that?"

The ignorance of the man was astounding. Brekke stared at him, and then began to speak to him slowly and clearly. "Look at the facts, F'nor. I don't know of a commoner alive who hasn't entertained the notion of catching a fire lizard, simply because they resemble small dragons - don't interrupt me!" Once again she'd forgotten just who she was speaking to, and began to treat him as any other rider in her - Southern - Weyr. "You know perfectly well that it's just in this last eight Turns that commoners were permitted on the Grounds as candidates at Impression. Why, I remember my brothers plotting night after night in the hope of catching a fire lizard, a personal dragon of their own. I don't think it ever occurred to anyone, really, that there might be some truth in that old myth that dragons - Weyrdragons - were bred from lizards. It was just that fire lizards were not proscribed to commoners, and dragons were. Out of our reach." She began stroking her little bronze affectionately. "Odd, isn't it, to realize that generations of commoners were on the right track and never knew it. These creatures have the same talent dragons have for capturing our feelings. I oughtn't to take on another responsibility, but nothing would make me relinquish my bronze now he's made himself mine." Lost in her passion, her lips curved into a tender smile as she looked down at the fire lizard sleeping in the crook of her arm. Then, realizing just who she was talking to, she shook it off. "It'd be a very good thing for people - commoners - to have a small taste of dragon."

"Brekke, you can't mean you think a fire lizard's loving company would mellow someone like Vincet of Nerat or Meron of Nabol to dragonriders?" F'nor said, not quite mockingly.

This time, instead of hurting Brekke, it made her angry. She glared at him.

"If you'll pardon me, F'nor," G'sel spoke up, and Brekke looked at him in surprise. "I think Brekke's got a good thought there. I'm holdbred myself. You're weyrbred. You can't imagine how I used to feel about dragonriders. I honestly didn't know myself - until I Impressed Roth." As she looked on gratefully, G'sel's face lit with the memory of his Impression, and Brekke knew just how he felt.

As if emboldened by that memory, G'sel spoke on. "It'd be worth a try. Even if the fire lizards are dumb, it'd make a difference. They wouldn't understand how much more it is with a dragon. Look, F'nor, here's this perfectly charming creature, perched on my shoulder, adoring me. He was all ready to bite the Weyrwoman to stay with me. You heard how angry he was. You don't know how - spectacular - it'd make a commoner feel."

Brekke just wanted to cheer. G'sel had said it better than she could have. She would have to do something special for him in the near future, but then she noticed F'nor, the wind taken out of his sails. He was looking at all of them, as if for the first time.

"Are you all holdbred? I hadn't realized. Somehow, once a man becomes a rider, you forget he ever had another affiliation."

Easy for him to say, Brekke thought bitterly. The man was being so arrogant - yet he was trying to understand. "I was Craftbred," she said pointedly, "but G'sel's remarks are as valid for the Craft as the Hold."

"Perhaps we ought to get T'bor to issue an order that lizard-watching has now become a Weyr duty," F'nor suggested, melting her with one of his smiles.

"That'll show Kylara," someone murmured very softly from Mirrim's direction.

********************

Not only was it bad enough that she was Faranth knew where, but to have her personal maid bugging her at every moment was enough to drive even the most easygoing of people insane. This time, when Rannelly accosted Brekke with her queries as to where Kylara was, she almost yelled at the old woman.

Instead, she was her usual patient self. "No, Rannelly, I've not seen Kylara all morning," she said in response to the old woman's questioning. She almost felt like telling her to go look on the beaches. That's probably where the Weyrwoman was, looking for fire lizard eggs instead of managing the Weyr, leaving that job to Brekke herself. Though the young queenrider had finally made the time to look at Mirrim's wounded brown.

Some of her impatience must have shown through, however. Rannelly sniffed at the somnolent fire lizard, and gave Brekke a nasty look. "And you've not taken a good look at your own poor queen either, I'll warrant, fooling around with these – these nuisancy flitterbys," the old woman retorted, then limped out of the Weyrhall, grumbling about queenriders having better things to do. The comment went unheeded by Brekke as she finished checking the tiny brown, which didn't even move he was so overstuffed with tidbits from the zealous Mirrim.

"He's doing just fine dear," Brekke said kindly to her charge. "Now, don't overfeed them. They'll split their hides."

"Do you think they'll stay?"

"With such care as you lavish on them, sweeting, they're not likely to leave. But you have chores which I cannot in conscience permit you to shirk…"

"All because of Kylara…"

"Mirrim!"

"What did old Rannelly mean about your queen? You take good care of Wirenth. She lacks for nothing," Mirrim said, deftly changing the subject.

"Ssssh. I'll go see. I left her sleeping."

"Rannelly's as bad as Kylara. She thinks she's so wise and knows everything…"

Brekke was about to scold her fosterling when she heard F'nor calling her. Though she had lost some of her infatuation for the brownrider, still, she couldn't but help answering him the second he called. Ignoring Mirrim's knowing look, she issued some quick instructions instead.

"The green riders are bringing back some of the meat hung in the salt caves. None of that is to go to the lizards, Mirrim." Especially since Kylara would probably have a fit. "Now, mind. The boys can trap wild wherries. Their meat is as good, if not better. We've no idea what effect too much red-blood meat will have on lizards." With that caution to inhibit Mirrim's impulsive generosity, Brekke went out to meet F'nor.

"There's been no rider in from Benden," he asked, easing the arm sling around his shoulder.

Brekke smiled, moving forward to adjust the cloth at his neck. "You'd've heard instantly. In fact," she added in mild rebuke, "there are no riders in the Weyr at all today."

"And not much to show for their absence, either," F'nor chuckled. "There isn't a beach along the coastline that doesn't have a dragon couchant, with rider a-coil, feigning sleep."

A small sound escaped Brekke, and she put her hand to her mouth. It wouldn't do for Mirrim to hear her giggling like a Weyrling.

"Oh, you laugh?" F'nor seemed amused.

"Aye, and they've made a note of both occasions that I did," she said with due solemnity, but her eyes danced. Then she realized that F'nor's sling was missing it's usual occupant. "Where's…"

"Grall is curled between Canth's eyes, so stuffed that she'd likely not move if we went between. Which I've half a mind to do. If you hadn't told me I could trust G'nag, I' swear he'd not delivered my letter to F'lar, or else he's lost it."

"You are NOT going between with that wound, F'nor," Brekke the Healer came to the fore. "And if G'nag said he delivered the letter, then G'nag delivered the letter. Perhaps something has come up."

"More important than Impressing fire lizards?"

"There could be something. Threads are falling out of phase…" Whoops. Brekke broke off. The bleak expression on F'nor's face made her realize she shouldn't have reminded F'nor of that, so she tried to soften the blow. "Maybe not, but they've got to get the Lord Holders to supply watchers and fires and it may be that F'lar is occupied with that. It certainly isn't your fault you're not there to help. Those odious Fort riders have no self-control. Imagine. Taking a green out of her Weyr so close to mating…" Oh no. Was that what Rannelly was babbling about earlier? Was Kylara's Prideth ready to rise, and that's why she wanted to find her? The old woman had been with Kylara her whole life, including post-Impression. She'd be able to tell if a queen was ready. But… "But Rannelly said 'my' queen, not 'her' queen," she whispered, her eyes wide with shock. She was leaning against something, and realized that it was F'nor.

"What's the matter? Kylara hasn't ducked Prideth out of here when she's due to mate? Where is Kylara, by the way?"

"I don't know," Brekke said in a distant voice, trying to contact Wirenth. But the young queen was so deeply asleep that all Brekke could get was confused images. Dragons dreamt? "I must check Wirenth! She couldn't be!" She wasn't ready for this yet. Would she ever be ready? Brekke ran across Southern Weyr's sprawling grounds, to find Wirenth where she was sleeping, not even realizing that F'nor was following her.

Being at Southern for as long as she had, she'd seen enough of Kylara's and Varena's flights to know that Wirenth wasn't going to rise today. She leaned against Wirenth, sighing in relief.

A sleepy _What?_ ensued from the dragon.

_Nothing, dearest. Just go back to sleep,_ Brekke began scratching Wirenth's favorite spot on her eye ridge, her whole posture relaxing to the point that she was emulating her queen more than herself. Hearing a sound behind her, she turned, still locked in her Brekke/Wirenth persona.

"She'll rise soon, you realize," F'nor said to her, a look of embarrassment on his face.

"Yes, I think she will, my beauty. I wonder how that will affect him," Brekke said, coming fully back to herself, her expression altering proportionately. She pointed to the little bronze lizard, sleeping in a nice warm spot between Wirenth's jaw and forearm.

"Can't tell, can we," F'nor replied, clearing his throat several more times.

Not realizing that the throat-clearing might be due to his own mental turmoil, Brekke immediately returned to Brekke-the-Healer. "You're not sickening with something, are you?" she asked solicitously, immediately concerned for F'nor's health and not her own trivial problems.

"No." He cleared his throat one more time. "So, who's going to be the lucky rider?" Then, as if he needed a reason to ask her, he added, "You can ask for an open flight, you know."

Shards. She stumbled back, leaning against Wirenth, wanting to draw as much comfort as she could from her queen. Why was she so surprised to finally be asked? With surprise, she heard him say something that she'd never expected out of him.

"It doesn't matter if the rider's already attached, you know, not in a first mating." Then he groaned.

Immediately, Brekke fixated upon the one thing she knew. Healing. "Your arm is hurting?" she asked, knowing that was not F'nor's problem. But she was trying to change the subject. She didn't want to talk about Wirenth's upcoming mating flight. Though she knew that it wouldn't happen – maybe if she ignored it, it would go away.

"No. Not my arm." The brownrider was looking as uncomfortable as Brekke felt. Then he stepped forward and grabbed her shoulder. "Look, it'd be better if you called for an open flight. There are plenty of good bronzes. N'ton of Benden, B'dor of Ista. Both are fine men with good beasts. Then you could leave Southern…"

No. She didn't want to listen to this. She didn't! Wanting to do something childish, like make singing noises so she couldn't hear him, she almost missed what he said. Then the impact of what he was talking about hit her. Leave? Leave Southern?

"No. No! I…I can't leave Southern. I belong here, not Benden. Or Ista."

"N'ton could transfer…"

Oh, wouldn't that be great. An open flight, first of all, as if the bronzes here weren't good enough. She was on tenuous enough ground with Kylara as it were. Then, if that weren't enough, to have a bronzerider transferred here, just for her sake? No. She shuddered. She'd survive somehow, with whoever flew her. Varena did, so she would.

"No, N'ton shouldn't…shouldn't come to Southern." Besides, that bronzerider scared her almost more than the ones here. He was so…intense.

"He's got no use for Kylara, you know," F'nor persisted. "She doesn't succeed with every man, you know. And you're a very sweet person, you know."

Now, that almost made her laugh. "That's nice to know," she said, smiling up at him.

Finally he changed the subject. "Have you named your lizard?"

"Berd. Wirenth and I decided on it. She likes him," Brekke said, looking softly at the sleeping pair. "Though, it is confusing. Why do I have a bronze, you a queen, and Mirrim three?"

"Why not?" replied F'nor, shrugging. "Of course, once we tell them that's not how it's done, they may conform to time-honored couplings."

"No, what I meant was, if the fire lizards – who seem to be miniature dragons – can be Impressed by anyone who approaches them at a crucial moment, then fighting dragons – not just queens who don't chew firestone anyhow – could be Impressed by women, too." The man would never know how hard it was for her to say that, but the timing was right.

"Fighting Thread is hard work. Leave it to men."

The statement was almost condescending in its delivery, and Brekke bristled – at least, internally. "You think managing a Weyr isn't hard work," she said, trying to keep her voice even and mostly succeeding. But her eyes darkened angrily, and she was hard pressed to keep her delivery calm. "Or plowing fields and hollowing cliffs for Holds. And…" she was on a roll now, but of course he interrupted her.

"Why Brekke, such revolutionary thoughts from a Craftbred girl? Where women know there's only one place for them…Ahhhh, you've got Mirrim in mind as a rider?" F'nor sounded amused.

Brekke didn't let that stop her. Now that she'd opened the door, she was going on. "Yes, Mirrim. She'd be as good or better than some of the male weyrlings I know. Her ability to Impress three fire lizards indicates…"

"Hey – backwing a bit, girl," F'nor interrupted her once again, and she almost felt the need to stamp her foot in exasperation. "We've enough trouble with the Oldtimers as it is without trying to get them to accept a girl riding a fighting dragon! C'mon, Brekke. I know your fondness for the child and she seems a good intelligent girl, but you must be realistic."

"I am," Brekke replied emphatically. Noting the look of surprise F'nor shot her, she smiled inwardly. Obviously he didn't think she had a spine. Granted, it wasn't evident at all times, but it was there. "Some riders should have been crafters or farmers – or – nothing, but they were acceptable to dragons on Hatching. Others are real riders, heart and soul and mind. Dragons are the beginning and end of their ambition. Mirrim…"

A dragon broke into the air above the Weyr, trumpeting. Faranth take all these interruptions! Couldn't she get one thought out completely without someone interrupting her?

"F'lar!" F'nor obviously recognized his Weyrleader. Breaking into a run, he motioned to Brekke to follow him to the Weyr landing field.

"No, you go. Wirenth's waking." Besides, right now she wasn't feeling all that magnanimous toward Benden's riders. Better to stay back and cool off. As F'nor ran to greet his brother, Brekke had the feeling he was glad she wasn't coming. Obviously, he didn't wish to be humiliated by her revolutionary ideas.

Well, there was more than one way to crack an egg. If it didn't work with F'lar, she could always go to Lessa. She sat down, leaning back against Wirenth, pulling Berd into the crook of her arm.

_Mirrim would make a fine rider,_ Wirenth said softly, moving her body so it would be more comfortable for her rider.

_Really?_ Brekke was pleased that Wirenth thought so.

_Who knows? Maybe she'll Impress one of mine._ As Brekke gasped in surprise, Wirenth nuzzled her then stood. _I go to hunt now,_ she said, hunger pangs felt as well by Brekke. Moving a bit away from her rider she launched herself into the air, to go feed. Berd, not wishing to be left behind where food was involved, followed the young queen. Brekke was left alone, laughing to herself.

**********************

Wirenth had barely eaten one large wherry when the alarm for Thread went off. She rose from the ground, looking sadly at the wherries which were foraging across the creek, but the age-old instinct could not be ignored.

_Thread falls. I come,_ she called to her rider. Then, without needing to be prompted, called out for Prideth. The senior queen sounded far away, but answered her junior's summons, heading back to the Weyr.

"Wirenth!" Brekke cried in relief as she watched the last wing take off. Leathers donned, flamethrower on her back she mounted her dragon, ready to ride the queen's wing. Varena was already in flight, but Kylara hadn't shown up yet.

_She comes,_ Wirenth said, almost at the same time Prideth popped out of between. Kylara jumped off of her queen almost before she landed.

"What are the coordinates?" she asked as she ran to pick up her flamethrower. Brekke told her as Wirenth gave them to Prideth. Kylara looked at Brekke as if she'd grown dragon wings. "Thread's not falling there," she scoffed, putting the flamethrower down.

"Yes it is, Kylara. Just have Prideth ask Wirenth." Not that it was needed, since Wirenth had already told Prideth.

"Like that would mean anything," said Kylara contemptuously. Looking Brekke right in the eyes, she took off her riding gloves and threw them on the ground. Turning on her heel, she strode away.

Brekke watched Kylara leaving, then looked up at Varena who was gesturing wildly. Shrugging, she boarded Wirenth, and the Queen's Wing winked between to fight the shortest Fall of their lives.

**********************

Once the klaxon rang that Fall was over in an all-too short period of time, Brekke took off Wirenth's riding straps. "Go now, go bathe in the ocean," she said. "I know you want to."

_Yes, I would love to get this firestone stink off of me,_ the queen said and happily launched into the air, winking between to go swimming with many of the other dragons. Her rider laughed. Unable to chew firestone, they rarely came in contact with any. And with a Fall this short, it wasn't likely that she smelled at all. But it seemed that all the dragons at Southern loved to go swimming, and were willing to make any excuse for it.

Some of the other riders were standing around talking, joking about how short this Fall had been. And no burrows, either. Considering the late warning, that one little thing was enough to cause her consternation. She wondered what T'bor thought about it. Oh, and F'lar, too. After all, he had ridden Fall also, since he'd been there. Shivers went up and down her spine, and she was feeling disoriented. Maybe it was the heat. After all, she was still in her leathers, so maybe she just needed to change. Leaving the various groups talking, she headed to her weyr.

After changing out of her riding leathers and hanging them outside to freshen, Brekke busied herself with checking on various patients recovering at the Weyr. That's when she noticed F'nor was gone.

_Canth?_

_We're almost there,_ the brown answered.

_Tell F'nor to come see me. Immediately,_ Brekke told him in a no-nonsense tone. Had F'nor disobeyed her instructions? Had he done something that could injure him even worse?

_I didn't let him go between. We've been flying back,_ Canth assured her, and she relaxed.

_I'll be in my weyr,_ she said, then began to fix something for herself and Berd to eat. Hearing a noise outside, she smiled as F'nor walked in, and Grall chattered at the food that Berd was getting. She shoved the bowl towards them.

"I was worried that you might fly between," she said to the brownrider, smiling at how hungrily Grall was eating.

"Canth wouldn't let me."

"Canth has sense. How's the arm?"

"Took no hurt. There wasn't much to be done."

"So I hear." Brekke shivered, and frowned. "Everything's askew. I have the oddest sensation…" she hesitated. How to explain her feelings to him? Sometimes it seemed that he understood her, but other times he had the maddening ability to make her feel silly. So now, she didn't say anything, though she really wanted to.

"Go on. What kind of sensation?" F'nor urged her after she stopped.

"It's not personal, if that's what you're thinking," Brekke almost snapped. She did not want to get back into their debate of who was going to fly Wirenth. "It's just that everything is going awry – disorienting, changing…"

"Is that all? Didn't I hear you suggesting a minor change or two? Letting a girl Impress a fighting dragon? Handing out fire lizards to placate the common mass?"

And of course he still didn't understand. So why did she continue to try? Because…maybe if she didn't finish that thought, it wouldn't matter. She turned her attention back to F'nor. "That's change," she said with a slight edge to her voice. "I'm taking about a disorientation, a violent upheaval…"

"And your suggestions don't rank under that heading? Oh, my dear girl," and F'nor suddenly gave her a long, penetrating look. She gazed back at him, unaware that her unfinished thought of before was transparent upon her face.

"Is Kylara pestering you?"

Why did that woman's name have to come up in every conversation they had? Brekke looked down, shaking her head, the moment over. She really needed to watch herself – this close proximity to the dragonrider of her dreams was wreaking havoc on her emotions. And really, did it matter that he didn't understand her? What man understood any woman? Or tried to?

"I told you, Brekke, you can request other bronzes. Someone from another Weyr – N'ton of Benden or B'dor of Ista…That would shut Kylara up."

"Don't keep foisting your friends on me," Brekke said sharply, shaking her head violently. She should have known better than to invite him into her weyr. "I like Southern. I'm needed here."

"Needed? You're being shamelessly exploited and not just by Southerners!"

Brekke stared at him in shock. She never, never in all her time knowing him, would have expected that. And she felt herself falling even more. Blinking, she covered herself by paying more attention to a still hungry Berd.

"The need is more apparent than the exploitation. I don't mind hard work." At the bronze's urgings, she popped another piece of meat into his wide-open mouth. "Don't rob me of what fragile contentment I can contrive."

"Contentment?" The word was an explosion out of F'nor's mouth.

"Sssh. You're agitating the lizards."

"They'll survive. They fight. The trouble with you, Brekke, is that you won't. You deserve so much more than you get. You don't know what a kind, generous, useful – oh, shells!" F'nor threw his hands up in the air, as if not knowing what else to say.

Brekke, however, could finish the litany with her lips sealed. And how nice that this one man also thought of her that way. "Useful, worthwhile, wholesome, capable, dependable, the list is categorical, F'nor. I know the entire litany." She felt like she was going to cry, but she refused, cadging her words with bitterness, instead. "Rest assured my friend, I know what I am."

Suddenly, F'nor leaned across the table and kissed her. Brekke's world stopped as she leaned into his kiss, drinking it in as a parched man would drink a river of water. Distantly she heard Canth bugle, then her eyes widened as F'nor, breaking off the kiss, slowly came over to her side of the table.

Mesmerized, Brekke allowed him to take her into his arms, kissing her as she'd dreamt he would many a lonely night. She wrapped her arms around him, and put all of herself into that one single act. She may have even made a moaning sound or two. All too soon though, he broke it off.

"You've never slept with T'bor. You've never slept with any man," he said in a matter-of-fact voice. He didn't even sound surprised.

To Brekke, it almost sounded accusatory. Turning slightly, she hid her face in his shoulder, stiffening in the process. But he put his hand under her chin, gently forcing her head up. She looked at him, tears in her eyes.

"Why have you deliberately let it be assumed that you and T'bor…"

Brekke wanted him to quit. To stop talking. She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. She wanted to get up and run far, far away, but it was so nice and warm and safe in F'nor's arms. So, she let him talk, answering his own question.

"To keep other men from you? Why? Whom are you keeping yourself for?" F'nor gave her a little shake, then his eyes widened as he realized the answer.

To prevent him from speaking, Brekke placed a finger upon his lips. "I have loved you since the first day I saw you. You were so kind to us, yanked away from Craft and Hold, dazed because we'd been brought all the way to Benden on Search for Wirenth. One of us would actually be a weyrwoman. And you – you were all a dragonman should be, tall and handsome and so kind. I didn't know then…how could I know…that only bronze dragons fly queens!" And to her disgust, she began to cry.

Crying did have its benefits, though. It caused F'nor to draw her closer to his chest, and as she sniffled, she inhaled his scent. The mere closeness of him caused her to feel less insecure, and her tears began to cease.

"Is that why you refused N'ton?"

She nodded, still unwilling to look at him. Because she knew that it was a silly reason. She'd been at the Weyr now almost three Turns. She knew by now how things worked, and that she should shed these romantic fantasies. But that was easier said than done.

"Then you're a silly clunch and deserve all the anguish you've put yourself through," F'nor said in a teasing voice. "Have you taken in nothing you've been told about dragonfolk? Weyrwomen can't be bound by any commoner moralities. A weyrwoman has to be subservient to her queen's needs, including mating with many riders if her queen is flown by different dragons. Most craft and holdbred girls envy such freedom…"

Brekke began to draw back this time. "Of that I'm all too aware," she said stiffly. Only too many of the girls brought in for Search seemed to embrace the way Weyrlife was. Secretly, Brekke thought they were all a bunch of hussies.

"Does Wirenth object to me?"

"Wirenth? Oh, no." Why would he think that? "I meant – oh, I don't know what I meant. I love Wirenth, but can't you understand? I'm not weyrbred. I don't have that kind of…of…wantonness in my nature. I'm – I'm inhibited. There! I said it. I am inhibited, and I'm terrified that I'll inhibit Wirenth. I can't change all of me to conform to Weyr customs. I'm the way I am." She sat back, and crossed her arms over her chest, effectively attempting to cut off the conversation.

"No one wants or expects you to change completely. You wouldn't be our Brekke, otherwise. But dragons don't criticize. Neither do their riders. Most queens tend to prefer one bronze above the others consistently…"

"You still don't understand!" Brekke wailed hopelessly. Or else he just didn't want to understand! "I never saw any man I wanted to – to have," she practically whispered the word as if it were evil. "Not in that – that way. Not until I saw you. I don't want any other man to possess me, I'll freeze. I won't be able to draw Wirenth back. And I love her. I love her so and she'll be rising soon and I can't…I thought I'd be able to, but I know I'll…" She tried to break away from him, she couldn't stand it any more. To never have the man she loved, to lose Wirenth, it was all too much for her. But he was too strong, holding her with just one arm. So instead, she clung to him in utter despair.

"You won't lose Wirenth. It's different when dragons mate, love. You're the dragon, too, caught up in emotions that have only one resolution."

The thought revolted Brekke, and she began to move away. She began to wonder, also, how F'nor knew so much of how it was when dragons mated, but before she could reach the end of that thought, his injured arm was suddenly stroking her hair. It felt so nice and calming that she succumbed to it, snuggling against him.

Suddenly he rose, cradling her in his arms. Sleepily she opened her eyes, and saw his eyes upon her bed. Realizing his intent, she began to struggle, but he stopped her by holding her even tighter.

She couldn't breathe! She couldn't move, couldn't call for help. _Wirenth! Help me!_ she called out.

Coming to her rider's summons, Wirenth landed in her weyr. _Where are you? What's happening?_ Her eyes were whirling an agitated yellow as her rider called her for help.

Canth's tenor voice amusedly spoke to Wirenth. _My rider is going to fly your rider,_ he informed the young queen.

_You don't need help then. This will be good for you. You need this,_ Wirenth mentally shrugged. After all, dragon mating flights were rough. They were supposed to be, and the rougher the better. If her rider was being ridden, then all the better when Wirenth rose.

_WIRENTH!!!_ Brekke's mental cry could be heard across the Weyr, yet the dragons didn't respond. This was a normal occurrence, as far as they were concerned.

Brekke fought F'nor as he took her to a small fern-covered spot behind Canth's hollow. She bit, she hit, and with great enthusiasm, he gave her the same treatment. He was a skilled lover, skilled in every kind of lovemaking there was, and this became apparent as he fenced with her among the ferns. And to Brekke's horror, her body responded to F'nor's ministrations with great enthusiasm. What was wrong with her? Then finally, she realized what she was doing and relaxed.

This was the man she loved. This was what she had wanted all along. There wasn't any help to be had from the dragons, or the rest of the Weyr. And she realized suddenly, that this would be happening even if she'd never Impressed Wirenth. After all, she'd most likely be given in marriage to someone she didn't love. Wasn't this better?

With those thoughts, she finally convinced herself that she should relax, not fight the man she had waited for all her life. And Brekke finally responded to, and enjoyed, her virgin experience at making love.

She lay upon a bed of aromatic crushed ferns, feeling more beautiful and sensuous than she had ever felt in her life. Stretching like a smug feline, she opened her eyes to find F'nor gazing down at her. She was finally where she wanted to be, in the arms of the brownrider who had stolen her heart, and who had just proven just how much he loved her. Then, she realized what she was thinking, and curled in upon herself.

"Oh, F'nor, what will I do when Wirenth rises?" Brekke cried. Just because he had introduced her to the joys of sex didn't mean she could still break out of her inhibitions. In fact, now it was worse. He had made her his – she could never be with another.

To Brekke's surprise, F'nor began a string of curses that could curl the leaves off of a skybroom tree. She stared at him, in awe tinged with a slight bit of fear that he could go on in that vein for as long as he did. Then he stopped, just short of cursing the fact that Canth was not a bronze. Brekke supposed that she might think less of him for vocalizing the fact that his dragon was not good enough, but Canth interrupted both of their thoughts.

_I am as large as most bronzes. I am strong. Strong enough to outlast any bronze here._ Canth seemed surprised that no one had even thought of that.

Though Brekke had heard him, she still didn't think anything of it until F'nor roused her out of her self-pity with an exclamation. "There's no reason Canth can't fly Wirenth. By the Shell, he could out fly any bronze here. And probably Orth too, if he puts his mind to it."

"Canth fly Wirenth?"

"Why not?"

"But browns don't fly queens. Bronzes do." She gasped as F'nor grabbed her, hugging her fiercely.

"The only reason browns haven't flown queens is that they're smaller. They don't have the stamina to last in a mating flight. But Canth's big. Canth's the biggest, strongest, fastest brown in Pern. Don't you see, Brekke?"

Canth. Flying Wirenth. Briefly, Brekke wondered what Wirenth would think of the idea, but she was asleep. Well, it didn't matter. Wirenth would be caught by the best dragon anyway, and if Canth were the best dragon, so be it.

"It's been done?" she asked in a small, hopeful voice.

F'nor shook his head impatiently. "It's time to discard custom that hampers. Why not this one?"

Why not, indeed? Maybe they needed to discard one custom at a time. After this one, then she could try to get Mirrim on the Sands. But there was still a lingering doubt, and when F'nor held her, she was still stiff and unresponsive towards him.

"I want to. Oh, how I want to, F'nor, but I'm so scared. I'm scared to my bones."

He kissed her deeply, then resorted to some of the subtle things that had worked during their lovemaking session. "Please, Brekke?"

A delicious shiver ran down her spine, and she moved against him, kissing him back. "It can't be wrong to be happy, can it F'nor?" she asked hopefully, searching him with her eyes.

F'nor answered her with the same techniques used by men for thousands of years. Brekke, succumbing to those techniques, became his forever in that moment.

*****************

Lord Asgenar and Lady Famira's wedding day dawned bright and warm at Southern Weyr. Brekke was not attending the wedding - after all, she was only a junior weyrwoman, and someone had to stay at the Weyr. Kylara and T'bor were both going, to represent the Southern Weyr. Not needing to be anywhere soon, Brekke was just waking, her lover at her side. Turning her head, she smiled at him.

"So, what would you like to do today, love? Relax along the beaches searching for fire lizard eggs? Go for a walk through the jungle?"

"I'd rather stay here, in bed with you," F'nor answered with a lascivious smile. He rolled over, pinning her to the bed.

"Off with you now," Brekke said laughing. "I have duties to attend to. And Canth could use a bath." She still hadn't spoken to Wirenth about their idea to have Canth fly her, and apparently neither had Canth. Well, there was plenty of time for that. Maybe sometime today.

She busied herself about the Weyr as usual, checking on patients, letting Varena know what else was needed over at her end of the Weyr Infirmary. Mirrim was handling the kitchens, and Brekke realized that her fosterling, if not a rider, would make a fine Headwoman. Shards, she was already on her way, practically running the whole Kitchen at her age. Watching from a doorway, she smiled as Mirrim issued orders to several drudges to get firewood, chop vegetables, or stir the stew pot. Her three fire lizards kept watch from above, and if someone shirked their duties, she was immediately told by at least one of them.

The day passed swiftly, and it was only by sheer luck that Brekke had not yet gone to the beach to meet with the relaxing F'nor when strange dragons began landing in the Weyr landing field.

_Wirenth?_

_Apparently, there was a fight at the wedding. The Oldtimers have been sent here. We get to go back up North._ Wirenth did not sound happy at the prospect.

Well, she'd better go greet the newcomers, and let them know where everything was. She wondered how long they had before they really needed to move out. Unfortunately, she was about to find out.

Two queens landed at almost the same time. With a wince, Brekke recognized both Mardra and Kylara. The two seemed to face each other off, and by the time Brekke got there, were in a full-fledged fight.

"…I am Weyrwoman here, and you are NOT welcome," Kylara was shouting at Mardra, stamping her foot.

"I don't think so. You had better talk to your Benden Weyrleader, because I am Weyrwoman here now. You will leave, and you will leave now."

As Brekke ran over to try to pry the two apart, she was asking Wirenth to marshal the rest of the Weyr into movement. _Tell everyone they need to get whatever they can together, and leave now. I don't think that the Fort and High Reaches folk will be all that happy with us right now._

"Kylara! Mardra! Stop it," she said, in a rare show of force. The two Weyrwoman looked at her in disdain, barely acknowledging that she had spoken, then went back to yelling at each other.

"Kylara! Kylara, come here," Brekke said, physically pulling her Weyrwoman away. Since Mardra was being so nasty, she didn't care what she said in front of the older woman. "Kylara! You've been complaining for Turns that you're not the Weyrwoman of a proper Weyr! Well, now you will be! We get to go up North now! You'll be Weyrwoman at Fort." Though this was not the best thing to say in Mardra's presence, it did have the desired effect on Kylara.

"Fort Weyr. Yes, I will be Weyrwoman of Fort." Giving Mardra a superior look, she whirled off, ostensibly to gather her own belongings.

Mardra was glaring at Brekke, her face red in anger. "You will clear out of here, and soon. You have one hour." Whirling, she went in the opposite direction that Kylara had, and Brekke breathed a sigh of relief.

A sound caused her to turn around, and F'nor was rushing towards her. "What's happening here?" he asked, leaning down to kiss her.

Brekke leaned against him, shivering from the delayed reaction of facing down two Weyrwomen. "I don't know, but we have an hour to leave here. Ask your brother." She drew away from him, then patted him on the arm. "I have a lot to do in a short time. Why don't you oversee the riders, and the wounded? You can't fly between yet anyway, so you may as well come with them." With another caring pat, she went off to get everyone moving.

It was amazing how quickly dragonriders could move when it was important. At the end of their allotted hour Southern Weyr was empty of all its former occupants, instead inhabited by the former High Reaches and Fort Weyrfolk. As it turned out, only a handful of people from Fort Weyr chose to move South, but almost all of the High Reaches folk left. Brekke thought it would take the combined efforts of all the remaining queenriders to convince Kylara that High Reaches was the Weyr for her, but she acquiesced with almost no argument. It wasn't until the next day that Brekke realized it brought her closer to her Lord Holder lover, Meron of Nabol.

*******************

Brekke awakened suddenly, as she was accustomed to doing in the morning, except that the dark stillness around her was not simply that of an inner room in the Weyr cliff, but was full of the soft solitude of night. The fire lizard, Berd, roused too, his brilliant eyes the only light in the room. He crooned apprehensively. Brekke stroked him, listening for Wirenth, but the queen was sound asleep in her stony couch.

Brekke tried to compose herself back into sleep, but even as she made her body relax, she realized it was a useless attempt. It might be late watch here at High Reaches, but it was dawn in Southern, and that's the rhythm her body was still tuned to. With a sigh, she rose, reassuring Berd who rustled around anxiously. But he joined her in the pool-bath, splashing with small vehemence in the warm water, utilizing the superfluous suds from her cleansing sands to bathe himself. He preened on the bench, uttering those soft croons that amused her.

In a way, it was good to be up and about with no one to interrupt her for there was so much to be done to settle the weyrfolk in their new habitation. She'd have to plan around some of the most obvious problems. There was little fresh food. T'kul had graciously left behind the oldest, scrawniest bucks, the worst furnishings, had made off with most of the supplies of cloth, cured wood, leathers, all of the wine, and managed to prevent the Southern folk from taking enough from their stores to make up the deficits. Oh, if she'd had even two hours, or any warning…

She sighed. Obviously Merika had been a worse Weyrwoman than Kylara, for High Reaches was in a bad state of disrepair. Those Holds which tithed to High Reaches Weyr would be in no mood to make up the differences now. Maybe a discreet word to F'nor would remedy the worst of the lacks…No, that would suggest incompetency. First, she'd inventory what they did have, discover the most pressing needs, see what they could manufacture themselves…Brekke stopped. She'd have to adjust her thinking to an entirely new way of life, a life dependent on the generosity of the Holds. In Southern, you had so much to work with. In her father's Crafthall, you always made what you could from things to hand – but there were always raw materials, or you grew it, or did without.

"One thing for certain, Kylara will not do without!" Brekke muttered. She had dressed in riding gear which was warmer and less hampering if she was to delve into storage caves.

Wirenth was twitching as Brekke passed her and the dragon's hide gleamed in the darkness. She was so deeply asleep that Brekke did not even stroke her muzzle in passing. The dragon had worked hard yesterday. Could it really have been only yesterday?

Berd chirped so smugly as he glided past the queen that Brekke smiled. He was a dear nuisance, as transparent as pool water – and she must check and see if Rannelly was right about the Weyr lake. The old woman had complained bitterly last evening that the water was fouled – deliberately; maliciously fouled by T'kul.

Taking a fresh basket of glows, Brekke went into the storage section to begin her investigations. Berd cheerfully accompanied her, perching where he could watch her industriously working.

By the time the Weyr began to stir four hours later, Brekke was full of contempt for the past domestic management and considerably relieved about the resources on hand. In fact, she suspected that the best fabrics and leathers, not to mention wines, had not gone south with the dissenters.

But the lake water was indisputably fouled by household garbage and would have to be dredged. It wouldn't be usable for several days at least. And there was nothing in which water could be transported in any quantity from the nearby mountain streams. It seemed silly to send a dragon out for a couple of bucketsful, she reported to T'bor and Kylara.

"I'll get kegs from Nabol," Kylara announced, once she had recovered from ranting about T'kul's pettiness.

While it was obvious to Brekke that T'bor was less than pleased with her solution, he had too much else to occupy his time to protest. At least, Brekke thought with her usual naïveté, Kylara was taking an interest in the Weyr and some of the responsibility.

So Kylara circled out of the Bowl, Prideth shining golden in the early morning sun. And T'bor took off with several wings for low-altitude sweeps, to get familiar with the terrain and set up appropriate watch fires and patrol check points. Brekke and Varena, with the help of Pilgra, the only High Reaches weyrwoman to stay behind, settled who would supervise which necessary duties. They set the weyrlings to dragging the lake, and sent others for immediate supplies of fresh water.

Deeply occupied in counting sacks of flour, Brekke did not hear Wirenth's first cry. It was Berd who responded with a startled squawk, flying around Brekke's head to attract her attention. As deeply engrossed as she had been, she hadn't really paid attention to Wirenth's waking, or to the wild, primal beast that she had become.

Brekke was astonished at the incoherence in her queen's mind, and couldn't imagine what had set off a dragon that had been so peacefully sleeping only an hour before. She raced through the corridors, to be met by Pilgra, wide-eyed with excitement.

"Wirenth's ready to rise, Brekke. I've called back the riders! She's on her way to the Feeding Ground. You know what to do, don't you?"

Stunned, Brekke just stared at the other weyrwoman. What was she going to do? Wirenth was rising, and she couldn't, she couldn't do it.

_Wirenth! Stop! Not now, please!_

Wirenth merely screamed back at her in answer. She was not going to stop until the most worthy bronze of Pern had caught her. If he could.

Dazed, Brekke let Pilgra pull her toward the Bowl. Wirenth was screaming in primal lust as she glided into the Feeding Ground. The terrified herdbeasts stampeded, keening their distress, adding to the frightening tensions in the air.

"Go on, Brekke," Pilgra cried, pushing her. "Don't let her gorge. She won't fly well!"

"Help me!" Brekke pleaded, her wide frightened eyes staring at Pilgra. She clutched at Pilgra's arm, as if she could keep her there. "Please, help me."

Pilgra merely smiled at Brekke, then embraced her. "Don't be scared. It's wonderful."

"I – I can't…"

"Of course you can. You must. I've got to scoot with Segrith. Varena's already taken her queen away."

"Taken her away?"

"Of course. Don't be stupid. You can't have other queens around right now. Just be thankful Kylara's at Nabol Hold with Prideth. That one's too close to rising herself." Pilgra, with one last push at Brekke, ran toward her own queen, and was gone.

Kylara. And Prideth. Kylara and Prideth could help her – couldn't they? Prideth, they said she was close to rising – maybe Prideth could stop Wirenth? Standing at the edge of the Bowl, arms limp by her sides, Brekke called out to Prideth to come back and help her.

Rannelly was suddenly at Brekke's elbow, batting an excited Berd away from her. "Get away! Get away! You, girl, get to your queen or you're no weyrwoman. Don't let her gorge!"

Suddenly the air was again full of dragon wings – the bronzes had returned. And the urgency of mating, the necessity of protecting Wirenth roused Brekke. She began to run toward the Feeding Ground, aware of the rising hum of the bronzes, the expectant sensuality of the browns and blues and greens now perched on their ledges to watch the event. Weyrfolk crowded the bowl.

_Prideth! Please, come help me!_ Then she remembered - Canth was going to fly Wirenth. _Canth!_ Dimly in the back of her mind, she heard her dragon.

_I never agreed to let Canth fly me. The best bronze will fly me. If he can catch me._ Then her dragon came down on a buck, ready to feed, to gorge, and to fly. An unrecognizable Wirenth, a defiant queen who could take on all the bronzes in the Weyr.

"She mustn't gorge!" someone shouted at Brekke. Someone gripped her arms to her sides, tightly. "Don't let her gorge, Brekke!"

'Become the dragon,' she remembered someone saying. But how could she? Brekke was with Wirenth now, was feeling the insatiable desire for raw, hot meat, for the taste of blood in her mouth, the warmth of it in her belly. Brekke was now unaware of extraneous matters. Of anything but the fact that Wirenth was rising to mate and that she, Brekke, would be captive to those emotions, a victim of her dragon's lust, and that this was contrary to all she had been conditioned to believe and honor. She couldn't become the dragon. Her inner being recoiled at what she could become, a wanton, sexual being, willing to let the man/dragon who won the right of competition have her.

Wirenth had gutted the first buck by now, and Brekke fought to keep her from eating the steaming entrails. Fought and won, controlling herself and her beast for the bond-love she had with the golden queen. For a moment there, she was Wirenth, and she liked it. But that knowledge brought her back to herself, and she realized where she was, standing amidst the bronze riders as they watched what happened on the Feeding Grounds. The looks on their faces repulsed her as well as frightened her. She staggered.

"Brekke! Control her!" A heavy hand grabbed her in a viselike grip, creating the opposite effect that was wanted.

Brekke wanted to vomit, but Wirenth wanted meat, hot, heavy meat. Something in the back of Brekke's mind knew Wirenth mustn't eat the meat, and exerted her control upon her dragon. Screaming in defiance, Wirenth glared at Brekke, then succumbed to the control and sucked the carcass dry._ I will not allow a mere brown to fly me,_ came the thought once again, as Wirenth tried to wrest control from Brekke.

_Canth! Canth, Wirenth's rising, you must come. Prideth, Prideth, please, you must stop Wirenth._ Brekke's final cries to the two dragons that could save her went out.

Wirenth, in her primal state, realized that the hot pulsing blood was what she really wanted, this time blooding her kill without needing control from Brekke. A third, then a fourth. And as she launched herself into the air, Brekke finally became Wirenth, aloft, golden and glowing, and fully contemptuous of the bronzes that followed. She sped upward, eastward, and realized that these bronzes were not worthy, so how could a brown even dream of being worthy? Bugling her disdain for anything in the air, Wirenth/Brekke sped upward, high above the mountains, until the land below was a blur of green and brown and the blue of water. Up, above the clouds, where the air was thin, but speed enhanced.

Suddenly another golden form emerged from the clouds below. Another queen? How dare she think she could lure her bronzes away. From her? She would pay. Wirenth dove at the intruder, her talons extended, her body no longer exulting in flight but tensed for combat.

_My bronzes. Go away,_ she screamed defiantly as she dove at the intruder. Prideth veered effortlessly away, turning swiftly to rake her talons down Wirenth's exposed flank. Wirenth, unable to evade the strike, fell, but valiantly recovered. Her bronzes were in a state of confusion, not understanding what was happening. But Prideth, also glowing in full flight glory enticed them away, promising them a better flight than the young upstart Wirenth.

Rallying around the new queen, the bronzes began to give chase again, but a furious Wirenth exploded right in front of them. Her whole demeanor changed, though, once she was in front of the bronzes. Her glowing golden hide writhed sensuously as she darted in front of the pack. _What do you want with her?_ she asked in a sweet, caroling voice. _She's so much older than I, she can't hold much mystery for you. I'm younger, sweeter, and will fly much better with you at my side._ Though she was still bleeding from Prideth's scratch, she began to fly as well and fast as the most experienced queen.

Yet Prideth was not finished trying to lure Wirenth's bronzes away. _Come, come to me. You know how well I fly, you know you want me,_ she called, and several bronzes wavered, looking towards her. Wirenth was going to have none of that, though. With a scream of rage, she folded her wings against her body and dove at the interloper, dove so quickly that Prideth could not move away fast enough. Wirenth slammed into her, claws extended, sinking into the brightly golden back. Prideth twisted and turned, trying to disengage the angry young queen, but her wings were fouled with Wirenth's. Both queens fell like Thread, toward the mountains, escorted by the distraughtly bugling bronzes.

Frantically trying to disengage herself, Prideth finally twisted free. _Let me go, bitch!_ she cried as Wirenth left bone-deep slashes on her shoulders. Finally freed of the hindering junior, Prideth turned and slashed at Wirenth, gouging her across her eye. Wirenth screamed in pain and rage as she turned to retaliate.

Retaliation was delayed, however, as queen dragons broke through into the air around them. One group dove for Prideth, the other for Wirenth. Forming a protective net around each risen queen, the rest of the golden forms tried to move the two as far apart from each other as possible. But Wirenth, thoroughly enraged now, was having none of it. Seeing an opening below her, once again she folded her wings to her sides and dropped through the net. Once free of the constraint, she saw Prideth's tail dangling from her own protection and immediately grabbed on with teeth and claws, pulling the older queen out of her 'cage'. Using her claws again, she began to climb up Prideth's tail and back, leaving deep gouges in the golden hide until her jaws could sink into the unprotected neck. _How dare you call my bronzes away from me!_ she hissed into Prideth's mind as the two began to fall like rocks towards the dangerous, rocky mountains.

_I wouldn't be here if Brekke hadn't called me,_ Prideth said smugly, surprising Wirenth into letting go. At the same time, Canth was trying to pull Wirenth off of Prideth and Ramoth was supporting the older queen with her body, keeping them off of the peaks. Wirenth turned to slash at Canth, the treacherous brown who Brekke had thought could fly her. Brekke, her betrayer, who cared more for Canth's rider than her, Wirenth! The young gold screamed her heartbreak for the whole world to hear; her anguish at her rider's betrayal, her grief that she had been forsaken, and in her deepest moment of sorrow Prideth took her chance, clamping her jaws around Wirenth's neck.

With one last anguished scream of desolation, a mortally wounded Wirenth transferred between, taking Prideth with her.

_Brekke. You did this to me – to us. Remember me, and remember I loved you. More than you loved me._

"WIRENTH!!!! NOOOOOOO!!!" Brekke screamed, a despondent sound of yearning and loss. What had she done? Why? What had she hoped for? Among the confused and milling bronzeriders, Brekke fell to the ground and curled into a fetal position, semi-comatose. The one being she had loved over all else, the one who had selflessly loved her in return, who had trusted her with her life was gone. Brekke had failed – failed herself and destroyed her dragon.

**********************

It was cold. A mind-numbing, aching cold. So cold and so dark. So…nothing. She was in a state of nothing.

_Wirenth?_

_Hello, Brekke,_ came the dragon's voice. But her voice was distant, far away, as if there were no substance to it.

_Wirenth! I'm so sorry. I didn't…I was scared._

_You should have trusted me, Brekke. You could have trusted me. But you didn't._

_I know, Wirenth. I should have trusted you. I was scared…so scared._

_I don't know what hurts more – that you never asked me who I favored in my first flight, or that you called another dragon to help you. Because of this, I am no more. But you – you still have the choice to follow me or stay on the other side. It's always been about you._

_No, no it hasn't. I love you, Wirenth! You Impressed me. We share one mind. We belong together…. Wait! What do you mean? That you are no more?_

_I can't come back. Ever. We can never be together again._

_No, Wirenth. We're together now. I'll be a better rider, I'll trust you. I promise. Please, Wirenth. Please, come back._

_I can't Brekke. I don't want you now. I haven't forgiven you. Prideth hasn't forgiven you. Prideth talks to Kylara._

_Prideth?_

_Prideth doesn't wish to speak to you. Nor do the others. They speak among themselves, but not you. You betrayed our trust_,

The cold was mind numbing. The dark was absolute. The isolation was complete. She thought she could hear voices, that if she strained, she could make out what they were saying. But no words would come. None of the voices wanted to speak to her. She was alone. She would always be alone.

************************

Why wouldn't they leave her alone? She could hear them. The ones on this side constantly chattered at her. She didn't want to hear, she didn't want to speak to them. They wouldn't leave her alone. But if she went to the other side, there was nothing. She could hear them, but they refused to have anything to do with her. She was ignored. Sometimes she wanted to be ignored, but not like this! Not this absolute silence that she heard from them. If she tuned in on one conversation, it was like they knew she was listening, and would turn away so she couldn't hear.

Why was she still alive? She didn't want to be alive. She wanted to be with Wirenth, but ever since that one time Wirenth spoke to her, her beautiful gold dragon never spoke to her again. She heard her – she could hear Wirenth speaking to others. But not her. Never to her.

When she was on this side, there were things going on around her. She was aware of hands moving her around, and someone feeding her. But she didn't care, didn't care at all. Maybe they would forget to feed her and she could finally die. But they wouldn't. They never forgot to feed her. They never forgot to clean her.

One day they made her walk. That day she couldn't go to the other side. She needed to stay on this side and concentrate on making her legs move. She really didn't want to make her legs move, but they were making her. Why did they have to make her do this? As she moved further ahead, she began to take notice of her surroundings. Why were they taking her to the Hatching Grounds? Her dragon was gone. She was lost forever between, and had rejected her. What good would going to the Hatching Grounds do?

For a few moments, Brekke actually thought they were trying to get her to relive her Hatching, until she realized that there was a gold egg cracking. No! This was wrong, she couldn't Impress another dragon, she still hadn't received Wirenth's forgiveness yet. How could…maybe if she closed her eyes, or didn't pay attention, they would take her back. Then she could go back to listening for Wirenth.

A loud "CRACK" split the silence, and a slightly softer creel wavered out. Brekke opened her eyes to see the sweetest little queen dragon who had just hatched out of her shell. Her heart went out to the little one who didn't belong to anyone yet – she was alone, too. Very alone. Maybe…she took a step forward.

A small blur of bronze streaked across the hatching ground. With defiant screams, a fire lizard hung just above the queen's head. So close, in fact, that the little queen reared back with a startled shriek and bit at the air, instinctively spreading her wings as protection for her vulnerable eyes.

Dragons protested from their ledges. A girl – a female candidate – interposed her body between the queen and her small attacker.

"Berd! Don't!" Brekke cried, and moved forward with her arm extended to capture the irate bronze. The cold and numbness were gone from her brain in an instant. She blinked in the sunlight as Berd landed on her shoulder, twining his tail tightly about her neck. Automatically, she reached up and scratched his eye ridges, lost in the incoherent thoughts of the little lizard. Briefly, she watched as the little queen hid from her behind the Candidate…no, weyrwoman's skirts. She'd have to find out who that girl was – brave enough to come between an angry lizard and a queen dragon. Looking up, she saw F'nor and Manora at the entrance to the Hatching Ground. She'd come back, but she wondered – especially after the things she'd heard while she was still 'away'. "How's Kylara?" she asked.

*****************

It had been like coming up out of the very bowels of the deepest hold, thought Brekke. And Berd had shown her the way. She shuddered again at the horror of memory. If she slipped back down… _Wirenth!_

Instantly she felt F'nor's hand tighten on her arm, felt the touch of Canth's thoughts and heard the chitter of the two fire lizards.

Berd had led her out of the Ground to F'nor and Manora. She'd been surprised at how tired and sad they both looked. She'd tried to talk but they'd hushed her. F'nor had carried her up to his weyr. She smiled now, opening her eyes, to see him bending over her. Brekke put her hand up to the dear, worried face of her lover; she could say that now, her lover, her Weyrmate, for he was that, too. Deep lines from the high-bridged nose pulled F'nor's mouth down at the corners. His eyes were darkly smudged and bloodshot, his hair, usually combed in crisp clean waves back from his high forehead, was stringy, oily.

"You need cozening, love," she said in a low voice which cracked and didn't seem to be hers at all.

With a groan that sounded close to a sob, F'nor embraced her. At first it as if he were afraid of hurting her, but Brekke responded willingly, holding him tight. F'nor crushed her to him then in a bone-crushing embrace.

"Stop! I can't breathe," Brekke cried out, but she was laughing as she said it. F'nor changed his tactics, kissing her head, burying his face in her neck, in a surfeit of loving relief

"We thought we'd lost you, too, Brekke," he said over and over while Canth crooned an exuberant descant.

"It was in my mind," Brekke admitted in a tremulous voice, burrowing against his chest, feeling the need to get closer to him. "I was trapped in my mind and didn't own my body. I think that's what was wrong with me. Oh, F'nor," she cried in desperate distress, "I even hated Canth!" She thought back to that darkness, such a short time ago. Would she ever find the courage to admit to her lover what had happened during her time in the darkness? What she had seen, how she had felt? She didn't know.

Tears poured down her face and shuddering sobs shook her body, already weakened by fasting. The crying felt good, and she fell against F'nor, his loving warmth a comfort to her while she cried. She thought she heard Manora in the background but was lost in her own thoughts. Thoughts of Wirenth, and Prideth, and the darkness that they would forever be in.

Finally, finally she was done but couldn't stop. Her hands began clenching at F'nor's shoulders, clenching and unclenching. Her breathing, ragged before, became quick gasps that were bringing in too much air. She was choking, choking on the air and there was no one to help her and she was going to die and why wouldn't someone help her…

!!!SLAP!!! Manora's hand hit her cheeks once, twice, thrice. Breathing stopped, Brekke was able to take in a deep breath and let it out, once again falling onto F'nor for support. She looked over at Manora in gratitude.

"You didn't have to slap her," F'nor said angrily.

"She did, she did," said Brekke in a ragged gasp. She wanted to do for herself, but gave up, allowing the two, mother and son, to bundle her into the warm bathing pool. Briefly, she wondered if she should be uncomfortable – mother and son tending the son's bedmate? Then she realized she was in a Weyr, and this was probably nothing to them.

Soon she was pulled out, dried off, and put back to bed, warm blankets around her.

"She needs feeding up now, F'nor. And so do you," Manora said, looking sternly at him. "And you are to kindly remember that you've duties to others tonight. It's Impression Day."

Impression Day? Then he needed to go! "I don't think you've left me at all since…" she began, wanting to tell him to go, go see to the guests. But she faltered, both because she didn't want to talk about it, and because she didn't want to be left alone. They were mean back there, in the darkness. They left her alone, and wouldn't talk to her.

"Canth and I needed to be with you, Brekke," he cut in when she faltered. He smoothed back her hair, as if it were the most important occupation in the world, and she caught his hand, looking deep into his eyes.

"I felt you there, both of you, even when I most wanted to die," she said, realizing that what she started to tell him to make him feel better was the truth. She'd heard the living dragons, but chose not to speak to them, instead focusing on trying to win Wirenth's forgiveness. Then, she realized how she had come back and felt anger, cold, deep anger at what they had tried to do to her. "How? How could you force me onto the Hatching Ground, to face another queen?" She still couldn't face the one she used to have!

Canth grumbled a protest. Brekke was thinking thoughts that he didn't understand, and couldn't relay to his rider. But she was right about one thing – she couldn't Impress another queen! Brekke looked through the curtains to see part of Canth and was dismayed at the unhealthy green tinge to his hide. He, too, needed tending!

"We didn't want to," F'nor was answering her, "It was F'lar's and Lessa's idea. They thought it might work, and they were afraid we'd lose you."

Loss. Darkness. Cold. Mind-numbing cold. Alone. The empty ache she tried not to remember threatened to become a hole down which she must go if only to end that tearing, burning pain of loss.

_NO!_ cried Canth.

Two warm lizard bodies pressed urgently against her neck and face, affection and worry so palpable in their thoughts it was like a physical touch.

"Brekke!" The terror, the yearning, the desperation in F'nor's cry were louder than the inner roaring and pushed it back, dispersed its threat.

"Never leave me! Never leave me alone. I can't stand being alone even for a second," Brekke cried.

_I am here,_ came Canth's reassuring mindvoice as F'nor's arms folded hard around her. The two lizards echoed the brown's words, the sound of their thoughts strengthening as their resolve grew. Brekke clung to the surprise of their maturity as a weapon against that other terrible pain.

"Why, Grall and Berd care," she said.

"Of course they care," F'nor said, sounding almost angry that she'd doubt it.

"No, I mean they say they care."

"Yes, they're learning because they love."

"Oh, F'nor, if I hadn't Impressed Berd that day, what would have happened to me?" But F'nor didn't answer in words, merely holding her against him as if he'd never let her go. And she was content to stay there, until Mirrim came briskly into the weyr, carrying a well-laden tray.

"Manora had to attend to the seasoning, Brekke," her fosterling said in a didactic tone. "You know how fussy she is. But you are to eat every bit of this broth, and you've a potion to drink for sleeping. A good night's rest and you'll be feeling more yourself."

Brekke stared at the girl, watching in bemusement while Mirrim deftly pushed F'nor out of her way, settled pillows behind her patient, a napkin at her throat, and began to spoon the rich wherry broth to Brekke's unresisting lips.

"You can stop staring at me, F'nor of Benden," Mirrim said, "and start eating the food I brought you before it gets cold. I carved you a portion of spiced wherry from the breast, so don't waste prime servings."

It was amusing, watching F'nor obey Mirrim as he would his own mother. Obediently he rose and went over to the table, seating himself and beginning to eat. To her own surprise, Brekke found the broth delicious, warming her aching stomach and somehow satisfying a craving she hadn't recognized until now. Obediently she also drank the sleeping potion, though the juice did not entirely mask the bitter aftertaste of the fellis.

"Now, F'nor, are you going to let poor Canth waste away to a watch-wher?" Mirrim asked as she began to settle Brekke for the night. "He's a sorry shade for a brown."

"He did eat…" F'nor began contritely, to Brekke's relaxed amusement.

"Ha!" Mirrim was starting to sound like Lessa.

I'll have to take that child in hand, Brekke thought idly, but an enervating lassitude had spread throughout her body and movement was impossible.

"You get that lazy lump of brown bones out of his couch and down to the Feeding Ground, F'nor. Hurry it up. They'll be out to feast soon and you know what a feeding dragon does to commoner appetites. C'mon now. You, Canth, get out of your weyr."

The last thing Brekke saw as F'nor obediently followed Mirrim out of the sleeping room was Canth's surprised look as she bore down on him, reached for his ear and began to tug.

The were leaving her, Brekke thought with sudden terror. Leaving her alone…

_I am with you,_ was Canth's instant reassurance.

The two lizards, one on each side, pressed lovingly against her.

_And I,_ said Ramoth. _I, too,_ said Mnementh and, mingled with those strong voices, were others, soft but present.

"There," said Mirrim with great satisfaction as she re-entered the sleeping room. "They'll eat and come right back." She moved quietly around the room, turning the shields on the glow baskets so that the room was dark enough for sleeping. "F'nor says you don't like to be left alone so I'll wait until he comes back."

But I'm not alone, Brekke wanted to tell her. Instead, her eyes closed and she fell into a deep sleep.

*******************

"I have every right to know how and where she is!" Brekke practically shouted.

Lessa just shook her head. "We feel that it's best you don't know. At least, not until you're better."

"But I am better! I'm up, aren't I? I've been regaining my strength. I need to go see her!"

"You may feel you're better, but the Healers disagree. As do I."

"It's my fault she's lost her queen, too!" Brekke was near tears now. "If you won't let me see her, at least help her like you helped me!"

"Brekke. You have always taken the weight of everyone and everything upon your shoulders. Now it's time for you to stop. This is not your fault, it's Kylara's. All of Pern knows it's Kylara's fault that you lost your queen. Now, go back to your rooms and rest. You need it." Lessa turned and left, a finality in her step that told Brekke this conversation was over.

"But I called Prideth to help me," Brekke whispered into the silence.

No one – not F'nor, not Manora, not Lessa…not even Mirrim would tell her where Kylara was being tended – or even if she were still alive. They all wanted to protect her, and no one, not even the dragons, would believe that Brekke was the one who caused all of this heartache. Well, the dragons could be forgiven – after all, their memories were so short that even two weeks later, it was just a fuzzy incident in their brains. They were relying on their riders for the truth, and their riders – all of them it seemed – believed that the whole catastrophe was Kylara's doing. Just because she was having an affair with Meron of Nabol.

Yes, she thought bitterly. The whole list of her virtues made her sick. Good old Brekke. Good old dependable, constant, faithful, loyal, responsible Brekke. While Kylara was the exact opposite – selfish, irresponsible, immoral, thoughtless. Undependable. Flighty. Maybe that's why no one would believe any bad out of Brekke – because the two were so opposite that any altercation that happened between them would be pre-destined: Brekke was right and Kylara was wrong. She sighed. What did it matter anymore, anyway? She could argue until she was out of breath and it wouldn't make any difference. No one would believe her. But some day, some day she would help Kylara find her way out of the blackness, as she had found hers.

**************

The cry of a dragon blooding her kill caused Brekke to almost cut herself instead of the tubers she was putting in the stewpot. White-faced, she turned to Manora, unable to speak but fear evident in her eyes.

Manora quickly crossed over the kitchen area and put her arm around the young woman. "Don't worry dear, it's just a silly green. This is the first one that's blooded in a long time." The Headwoman had a slightly worried look to her, and Brekke realized why. Most of the folk in the Lower Caverns were immune to the projections of a green by now, but she was wondering how Brekke would handle it. After all, she no longer had a dragon as her catalyst against the effects of randy greens.

"Why don't you go to your rooms for now – at least, until after the flight," Manora suggested kindly.

Brekke nodded and headed out of the kitchen area, but she didn't go to her weyr. Instead, she went outside to view the flight in an almost macabre sense of curiosity. She felt like she was poking at a loose tooth – it hurt, bad, but she couldn't stop herself.

Leaving the Lower Caverns, she went outside, and headed over to one of the ledges that overlooked the Feeding Grounds. There, a green was blooding a second herdbeast, her spring-grass-green hide glowing with an eerie luminosity. With a start, Brekke realized that she'd never seen a greenflight, which was odd since normally at least one green dragon rose daily. Yet, she had never been interested in watching one. After all, her upbringing had conditioned her against anything remotely suggestive of…that. But now, now she was fascinated by it – by the pure animal sexuality of the dragon.

That could have been Wirenth, Brekke thought sadly. She knew she should turn away, but the sight of the green, coquettishly cocking her head at her various suitors was mesmerizing. Suddenly, with a haughty bugle, the green was off! Within seconds, browns, blues and even a few bronzes had taken flight after her, all competing with each other to be the lucky man/dragon to catch this feisty beauty. Brekke remotely wondered where the human participants were, but it really didn't matter. The flight itself was a thing of beauty, the little green darting in and out of the clouds, while the males tried to anticipate her next move.

Higher and higher the green climbed, bugling her contempt for the males vying for her. It was obvious, though, that she was getting tired. She'd been flying for quite some time and was ready to choose the winner. Before long, she did, and suddenly Brekke realized what had been happening to her during the flight. She'd been seeing it out of Canth's eyes – Canth, one of the browns who had been chasing this green; Canth, the dragon of her lover. Canth, who had just won this flight.

Her mind went numb. How could he? Because suddenly, she realized, she knew, how F'nor and this nameless green's rider had to 'bring them back'. Her stomach clenched and she thought she was going to be sick. Tears blinding her eyes, she turned and stumbled back to the Caverns, stumbling right into Manora.

"Brekke, what's…oh," Manora stopped a moment. "Sweeting, you shouldn't have watched the flight. You knew it would be upsetting to you."

Brekke shook her head against Manora's shoulder, beginning to sob. "Canth," she said in a heartbroken voice. But, instead of the sympathy she had come to expect from Manora, she instead received a not-so-gentle drubbing. Manora pushed her away but held her by the shoulders, looking into her eyes.

"Now listen here, girl. F'nor and Canth were raised in this Weyr, and they are Weyrfolk through and through, just as you are now. Canth has needs too, which he set aside while you were ill, for F'nor's sake. Now you're well, and the poor brown just couldn't hold it in any more.

"Just because Canth flew Risanth today does not mean that F'nor will stop loving you and move in with Tr'dan. That is not how it works here. Truth be told, your relationship with him is a lot odder than his dalliance with Tr'dan today. So, it's time for you to get over yourself and remember what it means to be a weyrwoman – with or without a dragon!"

Eyes wide with tears pouring down her cheeks, Brekke sniffled. Her first instinct was to run to her weyr and cry her heart out, but she was prevented by Manora's viselike grip on her shoulders. Her eyes downcast, she slowly nodded. It was so hard to look at her, especially since in her heart Brekke knew she was right. Finally, though, it was time to pay the piper.

"You're right – I am being a selfish chit, aren't I?" Brekke said meekly. And she was surprised when she realized that she meant it. "I've been so caught up in my own problems that I wasn't thinking of anyone else."

Manora smiled, as quickly relaxing her hold on Brekke's shoulders and hugging her as she had been to chastise her. "It's understandable, sweeting. You've been through a lot lately. But don't forget, there are other people who've been through a lot, also. Now, let's go back inside. I think you need something to drink."

Brekke allowed Manora to lead her to her weyr, and tuck her into her bed, giving her some tea to drink. It wasn't until she was finished drinking it and her eyes grew heavy that she realized it had been spiked with something. As she slipped into sleep, she wondered what she could do to prevent this from happening again…

***************

After being refused by Lessa, and reprimanded by Manora, Brekke wanted something to do which would keep her away from people. Therefore, when the grubs were discovered on the Southern Continent and brought North for experimentation, she practically jumped at the chance to take over the care of the plants in the hidden Rooms of Benden Weyr. Since she had been raised in the Farmcraft, it only made sense that she be the one to tend the plants. However, any time someone would come by for a demonstration, she made sure that she wasn't there. It was bad enough to see the pity in the weyrfolk's eyes, but outsiders? Just the thought was repugnant to her, let alone the deed.

This did not affect her curiosity and she asked F'nor to tell her every detail of what she termed as the best-known Craft secret on Pern. When F'nor narrated the Telgar Lord's bitter repudiation of what the Weyrs were trying to accomplish, she was visibly disturbed.

"Larad's wrong," she said, shaking her head to emphasize the fact. "The grubs are the solution – the right one. But it's true that the best solution is not always easy to accept. And an expedition to the Red Star is not a solution, even if it's the one Pernese instinctively crave." She stopped, furrowing her brows a bit. Now what was it about that sentence...? "It's obvious. Just as two thousand dragons over Telgar Hold was rather obvious seven Turns ago." She smiled at F'nor, one of the few that she had bestowed upon anyone since her reawakening.

"I, myself, like Robinton, would prefer to rely on grubs. They present fewer problems. But then, I'm craftbred."

"You use that phrase a lot lately," F'nor said, turning her face towards him. She could see the worry he held for her, worry because she continued to express her heritage.

He was right, she needed to embrace her lifestyle now. Just because she no longer had a dragon…her throat caught, but she smiled at F'nor, not allowing him to see her sadness but unable to keep it from her voice. "I was craftbred. I'm weyrfolk now."

Their conversation turned to the months ahead. Seven Turns into the Pass, Thread was falling thicker and more often. "We could lose a few Holds this Turn around," F'nor said bitterly.

Brekke, lost in her own thoughts, had taken a different direction. "I'm relieved that F'lar is going to watch that Nabolese," she said, not deigning to speak his name. "He has a warped mind." As if her mind had been drifting to this subject all along, she gasped, gripping F'nor's fingers so tight she broke the skin.

"What's the matter?" F'nor pulled his damaged hand away, putting both arms around Brekke protectively.

"He has a warped mind," Brekke's face was white, her eyes dark and wide with fear. "He also has a fire lizard, a bronze, as old as Grall and Berd. Does anyone know if he's been training it? Training it to go between?"

F'nor shrugged and moved his protective cage away. "All the Lords have been trained - ," F'nor broke off as it became apparent what line of thought she had been following. Even Berd and Grall reacted to Brekke's fear, with hissing, nervous squeals and fanning of wings.

"No, no Brekke. Don't worry about it. He can't," F'nor finally said with a relieved smile. "Asgenar has one a week or so younger and he was saying how difficult he found it to send his Rial about in his own Hold."

"But Meron's had his longer. It could be further along…"

F'nor snorted. "The man has no concept of how to handle a fire lizard."

"Then why is he so fascinated with the Red Star? What else could he have in mind but to send his fire lizard there?"

"But he knows that dragonmen won't attempt to send dragons. How can he imagine that a fire lizard would go?"

"Because he doesn't trust dragonmen," Brekke said, exasperated. "So why should he trust that statement?" Really, F'nor could be so obtuse at times!

"Promise that you'll tell F'lar?" She was practically pushing him to the door.

"I promise, I'll tell him. But not in the middle of the night!" With that, he turned around and pulled her to him into a passionate embrace.

Obviously, she had lost track of time, Brekke noted as she allowed herself to be seduced. This was obviously a diversion, but he was doing it so well she allowed herself to be diverted. This also drove her random thoughts away for the moment, thoughts of an idea she had been forming.

*********************

"Brekke!" Lessa's voice carried down the corridor as Brekke was leaving her weyr. "Have a moment?"

"Certainly," Brekke answered, gesturing through the door to her weyr with a friendliness she didn't feel. She had tried avoiding Lessa ever since her aborted try to get Kylara some help. However, one did not refuse the Weyrwoman simple courtesy, no matter how they felt.

Inside her weyr, Brekke felt more powerful than normal, possibly because of being on her own turf. "What's on your mind, Weyrwoman?" she asked.

"Please, Brekke, call me Lessa," Lessa answered with undisguised reproach. "Just because you've been deprived of your queen doesn't mean you need to defer to me on everything. Just most things." This last was said with a mischievous smile, so Brekke obligingly smiled back.

"Fine then, Lessa. What's on your mind?" Now Brekke was truly curious. Not only was Lessa being unnaturally friendly, she was beginning to joke with her. Why? What did she want?

"It's F'lar," Lessa finally blurted out after an uncomfortably long silence accompanied by pacing, heavy sighing, and hair-twisting. "I'm afraid he's going to try to go to the Red Star."

Brekke had to sit down with a gasp. Not that this was unexpected, but because it was all too expected. He couldn't. Could he? "Why? Why now?" she finally had presence of mind to ask.

"The Lords Holder are pushing for an immediate solution. Most of them are less than impressed with our grub demonstrations."

Immediately the need to comfort the Weyrwoman was the foremost thing on Brekke's mind. She quickly went over to Lessa, kneeling down to put an arm around her. "Do you think you can keep him from doing it?" she asked solicitously.

"I do, but it's only a temporary thing. And it's something that I have to be there for," Lessa answered. At Brekke's blank look, she continued. "This also might be something you can do, too. Since you can hear the dragons too that is." Lessa gave Brekke a penetrating look.

Now Brekke's curiousity was piqued. "Do what?"

"Manipulate a person's thoughts or emotions. I've been doing it ever since Fax invaded Ruatha. It works best if a person is already sympathetic to where you want him to go, at least emotionally. Or anger – anger works in your favor." Lessa rose and once again began to pace.

Closing the mouth she was certain was hanging wide open, Brekke blinked and swallowed. "You're saying that, mentally, you can push your will onto another person? Make them do something they weren't going to do?"

Lessa nodded, a small smile on her lips. "Yes. I used it the day you awoke, the day young Lord Jaxom Impressed Ruth. I used it when I first came here. I wouldn't be surprised if you had that same – ability."

This was a revelation in itself. Tempered with Lessa's revelation of F'lar wanting to go to the Red Star, Brekke wasn't sure what to think. But think she did.

"So, you're going to try to keep F'lar from going, using that ability? You're sure he's going to try to go?"

"Yes. When you've lived with a man for seven Turns, you know what's on his mind," Lessa said. Hearing a noise behind her, she turned, an almost guilty expression on her face.

Brekke was still stunned, but schooled her features as F'nor came in.

"Know what's on whose mind, Lessa?" F'nor asked, unbelting his tunic. Brekke poured him some wine, which he took after tossing his gloves on the table.

"Lessa is afraid that F'lar may attempt to go to the Red Star himself," Brekke said, looking at F'nor, while Lessa sank awkwardly into the chair she had recently vacated, trying not to look at F'nor at all. Suddenly, Brekke knew what Lessa wanted. This so-called ability would be the key to all of her problems.

"F'lar's not a fool, my dear girls," F'nor said in a tone that could almost be considered condescending. "A dragon has to know where he's going. And we don't know what to tell them. Mnementh's no fool either." When he passed his cup back to Brekke for a refill, she thought she saw a flash of something in his eyes. As if he remembered something that belied that statement.

"He can't go," Lessa said, her voice harsh. "He's what holds Pern together. He's the only one who can consolidate the Lords Holder, the Craftmasters and the dragonriders. Event he Oldtimers trust him now. Him. No one else!"

Forgotten, Brekke stood in the background and tried to do what Lessa had insinuated. She wondered if it would work as she listened to the conversation going on around her.

"I heard what the Harper said about miracles," Lessa was saying. "Salvation in three days!" Her voice was bitter as she spat that out. Brekke wondered if Lessa realized that she was the one who had brought salvation in three days.

"Going to the Red Star is salvation for no one, Lessa!"

"Yes, but we don't know that for certain. We've only assumed that we can't because the ancients didn't. And until we prove to the Lords what the actual conditions there are, they will not accept the alternative!"

"More trouble from Larad?" F'nor's words were sympathetic, but his face was creased in a frown. He was rubbing the back of his neck as if it bothered him. Brekke desisted on what she was trying to do. Was it working? Was that why he was rubbing his neck?

"Larad is bad enough," Lessa was saying bitterly, "but I'd rather him than Raid and Sifer. They've somehow got hold of rumors and they're demanding instant action."

"Show 'em the grubs!"

"If grubs didn't reassure Larad of Telgar, they'll have less effect on those old blowhards! No they," and in emphasizing the pronoun she underscored her contempt for the old Lord Holders, "are of the opinion that Meron of Nabol has found coordinates after nights of watching and is maliciously withholding them from the rest of Pern."

Brekke saw F'nor relax at that statement. He grinned and shook his head. "N'ton is watching Meron of Nabol. The man has found nothing. He couldn't do anything without our knowledge. And he certainly isn't having any luck with his fire lizard."

"With his fire lizard?" Lessa looked at him blankly.

"Brekke thinks Meron might attempt to send his fire lizard to the Red Star."

Just his tone made Brekke realize that he was just humoring her. He didn't believe it, but Lessa did. Lessa jerked up in her chair, her eyes huge and black as she stared first at F'nor, then at Brekke.

"Yes, that would be like him. He wouldn't mind sacrificing his fire lizard for that, would he? And it's as old as yours." Her hand flew to her mouth. "If he…"

F'nor laughed, though not as blithely has he had before. Brekke, now behind him and glaring, redoubled her efforts. "He may be trying," he said lightly. "N'ton's been watching him. But he's not succeeding. I don't think Meron can. He doesn't have the temperament to handle fire lizards. You simply can't order them about the way you do drudges."

Lessa clenched her fists in an excess of frustration. Brekke caught her eye and shook her head, ever so slightly, and Lessa relaxed.

"There's got to be something we can do. I tell you, F'nor, I know what F'lar has on his mind. I know he's trying to find some way to get to the Red Star if only to prove to the Lord Holders that there is no other alternative but the grubs!"

"He may be willing to risk his neck, my dear Lessa, but is Mnementh willing?"

Lessa flashed F'nor a look of pure dislike. "And put the notion in the poor beast's head that this is what F'lar wants? I could throttle Robinton. Him and his three-day salvation! F'lar can't stop thinking about that. But F'lar is not the one to go…" and she broke off, biting her lip, her eyes sliding toward Brekke.

Motionless, numb, Brekke now faced what she had done. "I understand, Lessa," she said slowly, ignoring F'nor. "Yes, I understand you." The impact hit her like a landslide, and it was pure will that kept her from shaking. She looked over at F'nor as he massaged his right shoulder, and shivered.

"Never mind," Lessa said suddenly. "I'm just overwrought with all this uncertainty. Forget what I said. I'm only imagtining things. I'm as tired as – as we all are." Once again she looked at Brekke, who nodded imperceptibly. But tears were in Brekke's eyes, and she looked away.

Oblivious to what the women were doing, F'nor kept the conversation going. "You're right there, Lessa. We're all seeing problems which don't exist. After all, no Lord Holder has come to Benden Weyr and thrown down any ultimatum. What could they do? F'lar certainly has been forthright, explained the project of grub protection so often I'll be ill if I have to listen to it once more. Certainly he's been open with the other Weyrleaders, the Craftmasters, being sure that everyone knows exactly what the over-all plan is. Nothing will go wrong this time. This is one Craft secret that won't get lost because someone can't read a Record skin!"

Lessa rose, her body taut. She licked her lips. "I think," she said in a low voice, "that's what scares me most. He's taking such precautions to be sure everyone knows. Just in case…" She broke off and rushed out of the weyr.

With a mixture of relief and trepidation, Brekke watched Lessa leave. Relief because she still made her nervous, and trepidation because of what Brekke herself had done. Granted, this was the thing she had been looking for, the thing that would cement hers and F'nor's relationship together without any outside sources. Yet there was still danger, and she was scared. Poor F'nor, she thought. The man went on with life oblivious to the nuances around him. A wave of emotion hit her, and as F'nor turned to her, tears were in her eyes. She clung to him.

"Look, I'll get some rest, we'll eat, and then I'll go to Fort Weyr. See Meron for myself. Better still," and he hugged her, "I'll bring Grall along. She's the oldest we've got. I'll see if she'd take the trip. If any of the fire lizards would go, she'd be the one. There now! How's that for a good idea?"

Brekke hadn't even listened to him, instead kissing him so urgently and with such passion that for a change, F'nor ended up being the one seduced. He met her demands and exceeded them magnificently.

As she lay there after he left, taking a complaining Grall with him, she realized that Kylara didn't use men to make herself forget her own childhood abuse. She used them because of the contempt she felt. Brekke wondered if she were right.

*******************

Grall returned to Brekke, crying piteously, burrowing into Brekke's arm. Brekke awoke fuzzily, not certain of what was happening. Grall was trembling with fear, but her thoughts made such chaotic nonsense that Brekke was unable to isolate the cause of her terror.

"What's wrong, baby?" she asked, stroking the little queen, murmuring little nothings to try and soothe her. She looked at the bed next to her but F'nor wasn't there. F'nor. Where was F'nor? Somehow that thought transferred itself to Grall, who began to agitate even more. Berd became caught up in the anxiety and Brekke had to scold him. This only intensified Grall's excitement.

Blinking sleep-bleary eyes, Brekke once again looked around the bedchamber for her Weyrmate. Suddenly her sleep-fuzzy mind became a solid crystal of clarity. Without thinking she jumped out of bed, dislodging the two fire lizards from their holds on her. With squawks of dismay, they both fell on the bed, then went between.

The two fire lizards came back immediately, and Mirrim's two greens came swooping into the weyr after them. Their twittering and fluttering also affected the irrational behavior of the little queen who responded with loud squawks. Her eyes were whirling a bright red, and now she wouldn't even let Brekke get near her.

Mirrim made her entrance, her bronze flying with her bugling and fanning his wings once he landed on the bedpost. "Whatever is the matter? Are you alright, Brekke?"

"I'm perfectly all right," Brekke assured her, pushing away the hand Mirrim extended to her forehead. "They're just excited, that's all. It's the middle of the night. Go back to bed."

"Just excited?" Mirrim pursed her lips the way Lessa did when she knew someone was evading her. "Where's Canth? Why ever did they leave you alone?"

"Mirrim!" Brekke used the same tone her mother had used on her. The one sharp word spoke volumes, telling Mirrim to leave and let things be. "Please get me some strong klah."

Uncovering the glow basket, Brekke looked for her riding clothes so she could get dressed. The five fire lizards were still darting around the room as if they could escape some unseen danger.

Once dressed, she turned and noticed Mirrim still watching her like some numbwit. "Get me some klah," she repeated, and pointed to the door. She needed time to think before going out there.

Mirrim's trio of fire lizards followed her out before Brekke realized her error. They'd probably rouse the lower Caverns with their distress. She called but Mirrim didn't hear her.

Lessa's advice had been helpful, but the Weyrwoman had been doing it for Turns now, while Brekke barely had five minutes to figure it out. Had she done it wrong? Her whole objective had been to have F'nor stay behind while Canth was sent to the Red Star. Was that what had happened? Or was F'nor on Canth? As she tried to leave her room her legs began to shake, feeling like jelly. Of course F'nor had gone with Canth! They had been together for how long? 25 or so Turns? She wouldn't have been able to change his mind in the time she'd had! What had she done? All she wanted was to be rid of Canth, so she could have F'nor to herself and not share him with…she shuddered…others.

But, maybe they hadn't. She began to calm, rising from the bed she hadn't realized she'd sat on. Canth was a smart dragon. He had enough sense to know what he could or couldn't do. And this was something he obviously couldn't do. Could he?

Ramoth's brassy bugle of alarm arrived just as she received the incredible message from Canth. They were going – going to the Red Star on the coordinates of a cloud? A cloud, for Faranth's sake? She'd thought that F'nor had more sense than that! Or…she staggered against the table, her legs once again trembling as she tried to pour herself some wine. Giving up on the fine points of drinking, she upended the bottle to her lips, gulping it down that way. It helped. But knowing that she must have 'leaned' on F'nor too hard didn't.

Somehow, deep down, she'd believed that he wouldn't see a way to go. But apparently he had. Was that why Grall came back so frightened? Had he tried to send her?

Ramoth kept bugling and now the other dragons joined in. Brekke made her shaky way to the weyr ledge and halted at the top of the stairs, stunned by the confusion. There were dragons on ledges, fanning their wings with agitation. Other beasts were circling around at dangerous speeds. Some had riders, most were flying free. Ramoth and Mnementh were on the Stones, their wings outstretched, their tongues fliking angrily, their eyes bright orange as they bugled to their weyrmates. Riders and weyrfolk were running back and forth, yelling, calling to their beasts, questioning each other for the source of this inexplicable demonstration.

Brekke futilely clapped her hands to her ears, searching the confusion for a sight of Lessa or F'lar. Suddenly they both appeared at the steps and came running up to her. F'lar reached Brekke first, for Lessa hung back, one hand steadying herself against the wall.

"Do you know what Canth and F'nor are doing?" the Weyrleader cried. "Every beast in the Weyr is shrieking at the top of voice and mind!" He covered his own ears, glaring furiously at her, expecting an answer.

Brekke looked toward Lessa, saw the fear and the guilt in the Weyrwoman's eyes. Why don't you ask her, she wanted to say. Ask your own weyrmate. I'm not the only one here with a hidden agenda. Yet it wasn't Lessa who had caused F'nor to go to the Red Star. She took a deep breath and looked F'lar square in the eye. "Canth and F'nor are on their way to the Red Star."

F'lar stiffened and his eyes turned as orange as Mnementh's. He stared at her with a compound of fear and loathing that sent Brekke reeling back. As if her movement released him, F'lar looked toward the bronze dragon roaring stentoriously on the heights.

At that instant, every noise ceased in the Weyr as every mind felt the impact of the warning the fire lizards had been trying incoherently to project.

Turbulence, savage, ruthless, destructive; a pressure inexorable and deadly. Churning masses of slick, sickly gray surfaces that heaved and dipped. Heat as massive as a tidal wave. Fear! Terror! An inarticulate longing!

A scream was torn from a single throat, a scream like a knife upon raw nerves!

"DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!" The cry came from chords lacerated by the extreme of anguish, a command, an entreaty that seemed echoed by the black mouths of the weyrs, by dragon minds and human hearts.

Ramoth sprang aloft. Mnementh was instantly beside her. Then every dragon in the Weyr was a-wing, the fire lizards too; the air groaned with the effort to support the migration.

Brekke could not see. Her eyes were filled with blood from vessels burst by the force of her cry. But she knew there was a speck in the sky, tumbling downward with a speed that increased with every length; a plunge as fatal as the one which Canth had tried to stop over the stony heights of the High Reaches range.

And there was no consciousness in that plummeting speck, no echo, however faint, to her despairing inquiry. The arrow of dragons ascended, great wings pumping.. The arrow thickened once, twice, three times as other dragons arrived, making a broad path in the sky, steadily striving for that falling mote.

It was as if the dragons became a ramp that received the unconscious body of their weyrmate, received and braked its fatal momentum with their own bodies, until the last segment of overlapping wings eased the broken-winged ball fo the bloody brown dragon to the floor of the Weyr.

Half-blinded as she was, Brekke was the first person to reach Canth's bleeding body, F'nor still strapped to his burned neck. Her hands found F'nor's throat, her fingers the tendon where his pulse should beat. His flesh was cold and sticky to the touch and ice would be less hard.

"He isn't breathing," someone cried. "His lips are blue!"

"He's alive, he's alive," Brekke chanted. There, one faint shallow flutter against her seeking fingers. No, she didn't imagine it. Another. She wanted him to live now – she wanted both to live.

"There wasn't any air on the Red Star. The blueness. He suffocated."

Healer – they needed a Healer. But she'd been doing Healing at Southern. What did she do…some half-forgotten memory prompted Brekke to wrench F'nor's jaws apart. She covered his mouth with hers and exhaled deeply into his throat. She blew air into his lungs and sucked it out.

"That's right, Brekke," someone cried. "That may work! Slow and steady! Breathe for yourself or you'll pass out."

Someone grabbed her painfully around the waist. She clung to F'nor's body until she realized that they were both being lifted from the dragon's neck.

She heard someone talking urgently, encouragingly to Canth.

_Canth! Stay!_

The dragon's pain was like a cruel knot in Brekke's skull. She breathed in and out. Out and in. For F'nor, for herself, for Canth. She was conscious as never before of the simple mechanics of breathing; conscious of the muscles of her abdomen expanding and contracting around a column of air which she forced up and out, in and out.

"Brekke! Brekke!"

Hard hands pulled at her. She clutched at the wher-hide tunic beneath her.

"Brekke! He's breathing for himself now. Brekke!"

They forced her away from him. She tried to resist but everything was a bloody blur. She staggered, her hand touching dragon hide.

_Brekke._ The pain-soaked tone was faint, as if from an incalculable distance, but it was Canth. _Brekke?_

_Canth! I am so sorry. Forgive me._

"I am not alone!" And Brekke fainted, mind and body overtaxed by an effort which had saved two lives.

*******************

"Two lives which were almost lost," Brekke concluded guiltily. "Lost because I didn't understand Weyrlife." She looked at Kylara, who was busily coloring her dragon again. Sometime during Brekke's unburdening of a guilty conscience, Kylara had reverted back to the child. It didn't matter though. For the first time in Turns, Brekke felt like a real person again.

"Kylara?" Though it was the child, Brekke still had to ask this.

Kylara stopped coloring and looked up. The crayon she was using this time was brown. "Hunh?" she asked as she picked up the brown crayon and began chewing on it.

"Kylara, do you forgive me?"

"Yeah, I forgive you," she answered, putting down the crayon. She got up from her table and walked around it to Brekke. Then, in her own unique childlike way she hugged Brekke and gave her a wet kiss on the cheek.

Tears sprang in Brekke's eyes as she hugged the child-woman back. It was enough that one of the Kylaras here forgave her. She still wanted to try and break Kylara out of the child-shell she was permanently in, but at this late stage it probably wouldn't work. It would have been best right after the fight, but she'd been over-ruled time and again by Lessa, or F'nor, or even Mirrim.

She pushed her chair back and got up from the table as the Kylara-child sat back down to finish her coloring. At least she felt better now – thirty-five Turns of guilt had finally been unburdened. She put her cloak back on and slipped out of the room. Brekke probably wouldn't come back next Turn.

Kylara watched Brekke leave. A glittering intelligence came back into her eyes, and she nodded once. Then she bent her head back over the picture she was drawing, of a gold dragon next to a brown dragon. She laughed.


End file.
